Riddle My Bones
by ForeverLeyton
Summary: He is fascinated by three things: riddles, death and Bones. He makes the game and he sets the rules. Booth and Brennan have beat him once; can they find a way to win again? Some B&B moments.
1. Riddle Me This, Riddle Me That

A/N (For anyone who actually reads these): Ok, after a _really _long absence I'm trying this again. Just a couple of notes: this chapter is really short, I know. Its meant to be more of an introduction, not really a chapter. Just something to see if any of you are intrigued. Also, the storyline assumes that B&B have worked on this case in the past but he does not appear in the television show. Its mainly about the crime but I will find times to throw some angst/romance in, like all good Bones stories! Finally, this story falls at the end of the Bones timeline but essentially ignores the amnesia bit because I'm waiting to see exactly how the show plays that storyline out.

**Chpt. 1 Riddle me this, Riddle me that…**

Riddlemybones: Dr. Temperance Brennan?

Doc206: Yes. Who is this?

Riddlemybones: "I don't care what is written about me so long as it isn't true. When they wrote that I killed the President, I knew my acting days were through. And now I stand in magnificent splendor where the trees of Tokyo once grew."

You have 20 minutes to arrive at the designated location. Alone, Dr. Brennan, or he dies.

Riddles riddle the mind like bullets were designed.

**Riddlemybones has signed off**

For the first time in her life, Brennan's brain was failing her. It had simply shut off. She couldn't hear that persistent voice that would normally tell her that brains don't just shut off. She couldn't see herself calculating, even as she seamlessly deciphered the clues. She couldn't feel the instinct that should remind her to act rationally. And all she could taste was a metallic tinge of pooling saliva she didn't recognize as panic.

Perhaps some part of her brain shouted for reason: she should tell someone where she was going; she should wait for some kind of proof; she should call Booth. There were a hundred things she could do that were more responsible, more _safe_, than moving at the command of a murderer. But she knew that line: 'Riddles riddle the mind like bullets were designed.' It was the same line he spoke, with a somehow boyish smile, when she and her partner had found him standing over the body of a young girl that was, well, riddled with bullets. And she knew there could be no hesitation. His life hung on her ability to get to him in twenty minutes. Leaving her laptop open on her desk, she grabbed her keys and cell phone and began racing through the lab.

"Bren, whoa, why the hurry?"

"I can't Ange. I…" but Angela couldn't hear the rest of her friend's explanation because Brennan was already out the door.

Swiping her card, Angela stepped onto the controlled platform. "What was that all about?"

"What was what all about?" Jack Hodgins swung towards her in his chair.

"Brennan. Didn't you see, she just ran out of her office like someone was tainting evidence in the parking lot."

"Its called the 6:00 stampede. I'm surprised you've never heard of it." Camille Saroyan smirked over the unidentified remains of two firefighters killed in a Christmas tree blaze.

"Yeah and its Brennan," Angela rebuked. "She wouldn't know what that phrase meant, much less be a participant. I only saw her for instant but she looked… scared," Angela realized. "She looked scared."

"Dr. Brennan doesn't do scared, Angela, any more than she does the stampede. I'm sure she was just called for a case."

"According to the Royal Society of Health, half of all women and ten percent of men have a fear, to varying degrees, of spiders." At Dr. Saroyan's hard glare, Mr. Nigel-Murray shrugged, "perhaps Dr. Brennan was running from her office to escape a spider."

While the women stared at him with a mixture of annoyance and incredulity, Hodgins shook his head. "No, he's right. You said Dr. B was running from her office, right Ange? So the answer is there. We'll look around and see--its probably nothing but you'll feel better if we look around."

When they stepped into her office, the 'Squint Squad' could see nothing immediately out of place: no suspiciously unmarked packages, no different-than-usual body parts or weapons, no scattered papers or displays overturned in haste. Even her open lap top seemed innocuous. Smiling at the screensaver that flashed waving fingers and the phrase 'dancing phalanges, dancing phalanges' in rapid succession, Cam cocked her head.

"Hey, Angela, this screensaver? When did that happen?"

Distracted, and frustrated that the others didn't feel the same dread slithering up their spines, Angela didn't turn around. "Its something Booth put there as a joke. Brennan was impressed he figured out how to design a screensaver so she kept it."

Intrigued, Hodgins leaned over to see the new graphics but he bumped the desk when he moved and the screensaver flashed off. "Oh my God…"

Without a word Cam reached for the phone. "Booth, damnit, answer your phone. You need to get to the Jeffersonian. Now. The Riddler's back."


	2. The Remarkable Ruse of the Riddler

**Chpt. 2--The Remarkable Ruse of the Riddler**

"Ok people. We need to calm down. Calm down!" Cam was forced to raise her voice above the buzz of terror circling the room.

"Edward E. Nigma, or the Riddler as he is more commonly known, first appeared in Detective Comics No. 140. And…ah…Sorry, Dr. Saroyan, those are the things that surge into my brain when terribly nervous. The, um, the Riddler?"

"Brennan wouldn't go to him Cam. Not like that, not without telling us what was going on." Angela was trying to sound convincing but even she could hear the desperation in her voice.

"The Riddler, Mr. Nigel-Murry, killed three young girls approximately two years ago before Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth brought him down. We call him the Riddler because that's his thing, his ruse. He rhymes clues and sends them to law enforcement. And he is, even as we speak, supposedly serving a life sentence in prison. And I agree, Angela, Brennan wouldn't run off without fully assessing the situation first. So we assume she called Booth… Unless… Oh God. Unless she believes the Riddler has Booth. Do any of us think there's anything she wouldn't do to help Booth? Even act irrationally?"

"Wait." Hodgins moved back to the computer. "The Riddler, if this him, his riddles are clues. Always. So we read what he said and… John Wilkes Booth."

"What?" Angela asked.

Hodgins's eyes locked with Angela's. "John Wilkes Booth. That's the actor who shot the President."

"Ah, yes, John Wikes Booth, the assassin of President Abraham Lincoln, was also a member of the Booth family, prominent Shakespearean thespians."

"Mr. Nigel-Murray, please. Relevant facts, only. Ok, Dr. Hodgins, you're saying this clue means the Riddler has Booth?"

"Well, I'm guessing emergency situations permit leaping to conclusions so here's what I've got. If we _assume_ this text is from the Riddler, who as you said, is supposed to be in jail, than we can _assume_ his rhyme contains clues. In the past the Riddler sent clues to local police that included the location a body was buried, the identity of his victims, etc. It was the game he loved. In the past," Hodgins repeated, "anything he put inside the quotation marks was relevant--a clue. So, since John Wilkes Booth is an actor who killed a President, we can _assume_ that yes, the Riddler has Booth."

"Bones? Hey Bones! We got a case, Bones. I'm hearing there were bones dropped into an industrial air conditioning vent. Sounds right up your alley." Approaching Brennan's office with his cell phone cocked between his shoulder and his ear, Booth stopped when he saw the Squint Squad in Bones' office but no Bones. "Hey Cam, you're on my phone which is weird because…" he trailed off as Cam's voicemail completed. "What do you mean the Riddler's back? His name is Needling and we put that sick bastard in jail years ago."

"We think he's back, Booth. We think--"

"Where's Bones?" he interrupted.

"We think…We believe Dr. Brennan is attempting to find the Riddler."

Booth immediately engaged his phone's speed dial. "Yeah, Martin, hi. Listen, I need you to confirm something for me. Prisoner Gregory Needling, sent to…ah…to Terre Haute Federal Correctional Facility. No, I don't care about his movement; just confirm that he's still there. I'll wait." To the side of his phone, Booth addressed Cam. "What do you mean, you _believe_? Bones wouldn't do that, she wouldn't go after some psycho alone. Its not rational. Its not…Yeah, I'm here. Uh-huh. How long? Shit. Ok, thanks."

"Somebody better damn well start at the beginning because my guy tells me Needling escaped Terre Haute three weeks ago."

"Son of a bitch," Angela whispered.

"Ok Booth listen up." Cam took over the details, falling back on the comfortable cop-speak that was most comfortable for she and Booth. "Approximately 20 to 25 minutes ago Angela saw Dr. Brennan running from her office and out the lab. She was unable to stop Dr. Brennan and after indicating the doctor seemed scared, we came to her office to look for anything unusual. We found this on her computer." She nudged the laptop toward Booth. "We believe--"

"We _assume_," Hodgins interrupted.

"We assume," Cam stressed, "that this message was sent by the incarcerated muderer known as the Riddler and is the reason Dr. Brennan left. We were in the process of trying to decipher any clues that may be included in this message. We believed the Riddler was telling Dr. Brennan that you were in danger."

"Me? Hello, standing right here."

"Yes, but Brennan doesn't know that," Angela reminded him. "You missed Cam's call, did you miss a call from Brennan?"

"I don't think so," he checked his phone. "No, no calls, no texts."

"Then _why_ would Brennan do what this guy says. It's a chat room, for God's sake. And the Riddler is supposed to be jail. She can't have known it was really him." It didn't make any sense to Angela.

"Yes, she could." Booth was staring at the computer screen. "This line here," he smacked the screen with more force than he intended. "That's what he said when we caught him. He was standing over Julie Cushing's body and he's rhyming like…damnit, like the Riddler from freakin' Batman. It was…creepy." As he talked, memories of that case became more clear. "He was staring at Bones when he said it. Smiling at her, almost like a little boy trying to get his Mom to smile back. Like I said, creepy. Anyway, this line, it wasn't in our report. Just didn't seem relevant. So Bones and I, we're the only ones who he could be certain would recognize that line. It's a clue to tell Bones its really him. Or at least someone working with him. But why would she go after him alone?"

"Because she believed him. She believed he had you and that he would kill you if she didn't get to you in time. Alone." That Brennan would act irrationally when she believed Booth was threatened was the only part of this entire charade Angela understood. "She wouldn't have called because she thought he had you. She didn't want the Riddler to know she believed him. Surprise was all she had left."

"Ok so this guy sends her a clue but its bogus. He doesn't have me. He lied. Why should we believe anything else he says?"

"Because," Hodgins turned the laptop's screen back towards him. "Because his clues mean something. He might not have you but its how he got _her_. The answers are in this rhyme. He tells her to come to the designated location but then he never gives a location. That means its somewhere in this clue."

"Ok then, you're Squints, figure it out!"

"Seeley," Cam rested a hand over the fist he slammed against the desk.

"No, Camille. Figure the damn thing out. You've all got your genius brains--which one's the best at this rhyming, riddling, conundrum crap?"

"Brennan," Angela answered immediately.

"Ok then who's next best?"

"Zack," replied Hodgins, who put his hands up in automatic defense when Booth took a menacing step towards him. "Whoa, man, ok, I get your point. Let's just go through this piece by piece. First, 'I don't care what is written about me so long as it isn't true,'" he read aloud. "Anyone get anything from that?" They all shook their heads. "Yeah, me neither. So, what about 'And now I stand in--"

"Wait!" Angela interrupted. "That last line. Say it again."

"I don't care what is written about me so long as it isn't true. "

"Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses."

"Huh?" Booth stared at her. "I hate when psycho murderers try to play genius games. It makes you people all…_squinty_. And meanwhile Bones is trying to catch a killer all by herself."

"Booth, I hate to be the one to say this, but I think we should assume Dr. Brennan _has _found him. We weren't lying when we said she was the best at these things. She knew where she was going."

"Guys! Guys," Angela shouted. "What I meant, that line, the first line, I think it's a quote. I can't remember who but I think, I think it's the same lady who said the thing about girls in glasses. I remember it from my Women's Studies class but I can't remember who…I'll run a search."

"What about the next line? The Tokyo trees thing? What's that, like, those little midget trees? The ah, what's it called? Bonsai! Bonsai trees. They grown in Tokyo."

"Ah, actually Agent Booth, the Bonsai tree originated in what is now known as the Peoples Republic of China and is only an assimilated aspect of Japanese culture. Cherry blossoms, however, grow naturally in over a hundred different varieties in Japan, including Yamazakura,…" Nigel-Murray trailed off when he noticed everyone was staring at him. "Um, right, relevance. Sorry."

"No, Mr. Nigel-Murray, that might be your most relevant fact ever uttered." Cam smiled. "The cherry blossoms."

"Around the Tidal Basin. She's gone to the cherry blossoms." Booth strode to the door.

"Wait!" Hodgins stopped him. "Every word of his clues are relevant. You can't just take off. You need to understand the whole thing. He says where the cherry blossoms _once _grew, not where they are growing now."

"Hodgins, I've met this guy. He's not a squint. He's more like…more like a wannabe squint. You're over thinking this."

"No, he's not," Cam shook her head. "I'm remembering a tour I took when I first moved to D.C. The cherry blossoms, they were a gift to the city of D.C. from the city of Tokyo in…well, I don't know when but a long time ago. The point is, they chopped a bunch of them down and it caused some big controversy. They cut them down to build the Jefferson memorial. That's where she went--to the Jefferson memorial."

"Great. Good. Great job, squints." Booth headed for the door again but Angela's quiet whisper stopped him in his tracks.

"Booth." Angela hadn't spoken since she began her search but there were silent tears streaming down her face. "I found the quote. Its from a woman named Dorothy Parker. That's the clue; that's why Brennan ran. He has Parker, Booth."


	3. The Cluemaster

What, you thought that just because this update took over a year, I had abandoned this story? Ha. Sorry, sorry, sorry. _Mea culpa_, to all of you (are there really any of you left?) who have been waiting for this story. I will make no excuses but rather offer my humble promise that I _really _intend to finish this story. And I don't anticipate it taking another year.

I think this story still fits comfortably within the Bones TV timeline but, of course, the anticipated one year time jump has not occurred here.

Thanks to those of you who are still reading (and reviewing, perhaps?). Now, onward…

* * *

**Chpt. 3- The Cluemaster**

Seeley Booth, always a man of action, took off in a sprint towards the Jeffersonian exit. "Booth! Booth!" Angela chased after him but when she managed to grab his arm he shook her off hard enough to send her sprawling onto the steps of the lab's platform. Booth never looked back, only mumbled "Parker" as he continued running, but Angela's fall had alerted the lab's security sensors and the automatic doors slid closed before Booth could reach them.

"Open the goddamn doors!" Booth yelled as he uselessly banged his fists against the glass doors. "Open the fucking doors! Now!" Booth stepped back and reached for his gun but Hodgins tackled him to the ground before he could fire a shot.

"Agent Booth," Hodgins spoke as calmly as he could while he struggled to hold Booth to the ground. "Security! Help me hold him! Booth, listen. Listen to me! You can't shoot down the doors, man. You'll kill us! The doors are bullet proof, Booth. Remember? They put in bulletproof glass after your little stunt with the Secret Service. Trust me, man, you don't want to shoot the doors."

Booth stopped struggling and turned to face Angela, who was now kneeling beside him. "Get the doors unlocked, Angela, now. Please."

"We can't, Sweetie. You know we can't open the doors yet." She ran a brief hand through his hair as Booth stared at her with empty eyes. Angela had drawn eyes like this before; they were the eyes of a victim.

Cam jogged towards her people with a phone cocked against her ear. Like Angela, she knelt besides Booth and gripped one of his hands. "Jay," she spoke into the phone. "Hey, it's Camille, Cam. I need a SWAT team and emergency vehicles sent immediately to the Jefferson Memorial. No, seriously. We have reason to believe a young boy and possibly one of our doctor's, Dr. Brennan, are being held by an escaped convict at or near the Memorial. If we are right they are both in immediate danger. Yeah, I'll hold."

Cam spoke calmly to Booth as she waited for her police contact to return to the line. "They're sending police there now, Booth. No questions asked. And Brennan is already on her way to your son. You know this guy. What does he do next?"

Booth just continued to stare blindly but Angela spoke up. "He likes the game. He wanted Brennan to come out and play and she is on her way there. He's not going to hurt Parker because Brennan's going to get there. She's going to play his game and she's not going to let anything happen to your son. However smart this guy thinks he is, Brennan's smarter. You know that; you _know _that. He's going to want you next, Booth. Brennan is like-like a chess piece. You're the opponent. You've got to wait until he tells you what to do. You've got to let the police go after him and you've got to trust Brennan. You've got to wait so you can both save Parker, Booth."

Cam closed her eyes in relief as she saw Seeley slowly shake is head. She stood to resume her phone call when she heard Jason calling her name. "Yeah, Jay, I'm here. Ok, ok. Good." Booth looked towards Cam and saw she was nodding her head in agreement but he could only hear her side of the conversation. "Yeah, let's get an APB and an Amber Alert issued for Parker Joseph Booth, age 9. Yes, he's Agent Booth's son. Uh-huh. Umm… Shit," Cam tried to talk, to _think_, like a cop. "Sandy blonde and brown, about 3' 8. Answers to Parker, yeah. Ok, I'm faxing you a picture now." Cam snapped at Hodgins and whispered, "fax to Captain Jason Little, DCPD. Memory 9. There's a picture on my cork board."

When she saw Hodgins dash towards her office she returned to the phone call and watched Angela help Booth stand up. "Add Dr. Temperance Brennan to the alerts. She should already be on file with you guys. Listen, we… we have reason to believe Parker was kidnapped by a Gregory Needling, goes by the Riddler. Yeah, Booth put him away. Multiple counts," Cam's breath shuddered out, "murder. I know. I- I don't know all the details; Needling was pretty much all Booth and Brennan. Yes, Booth's here but he's… He's… Yeah, exactly. Uh-huh. We received-Dr. Brennan received what appears to be a coded chat room message from Needling informing her that he had taken Parker Booth and directing Dr. Brennan to the Jefferson Memorial. She left here alone and is likely at the Memorial by now." Cam paused to listen before nodding her head. "Yes, the message appears to be genuine. A contact with the FBI has informed us that Needling escaped during a routine prisoner transport. No, Booth wasn't aware he had escaped. I don't know, Jay, I guess that memo got lost. Regardless, he's out and I'm telling you, he's got Agent Booth's son and possibly one of my people. We are keeping Booth here but we aren't going to be able to hold him off for long. Your guys need to find them. Now. Ok, as soon as you can." Cam clicked her phone closed and walked to stand in front of Booth.

"Seeley, look at me. A SWAT task force is on its way to the Memorial. If- If they are still there, the good guys will find them, Seeley. And Jason, umm, Captain Little is going to come here with a couple officers. They need to talk to you, Seeley. They need to know everything there is to know about Needling and you are the only one who can tell them." Booth tried to shake his head no but Cam grabbed his chin. "Right now, Seeley, _right now _this is what you do. This is how you stand up. This is how you help your son. For right now. This is how we save their lives."

* * *

Brennan kept her mind blank as she drove from the Jeffersonian to the Jefferson Memorial. She couldn't think about how frightened Parker, always such a happy child, must be right now. She couldn't think about what Booth would do when he realized what was happening. She couldn't think about all the possibilities that awaited her. She could only think about the next step and, right now, that was getting to the Jefferson Memorial. Spotting the sign off I-395 that signaled her exit, Brennan glanced at her watch. Ten minutes left. Thinking quickly, Brennan pulled over on the interstate, ignoring the horns from mid-day traffic as she slammed her car to a stop on the shoulder.

It was risky, Brennan thought, but if she could climb the fence that ran between the interstate and the Memorial and make her way through the trees, maybe, just maybe, she could take Needling by surprise. Risk and reward. She was going for it.

Grabbing her purse, Brennan began sprinting towards the tall hurdle. Hurling her purse over the enclosure, she began climbing the fence, oblivious to the curious drivers who honked as they passed. Quickly straddling the wire fence, Brennan jumped down and continued her sprint through the woods that she knew surrounded the Memorial. She wasn't sure where Needling would be but she hypothesized he would want to be somewhere public, inconspicuous, and close to transportation. He was smart, she remembered, smart enough to realize that they couldn't stay at the Memorial for long. Speculating that he would want a car rather than relying on public transportation, Brennan ran towards the edge of the parking lot. She slammed to a stop behind a large tree trunk when she saw Parker.

"Oh my God," Brennan whispered. Throughout the entire drive, scaling the fence and racing through the woods, she had never truly allowed herself to believe that Parker was in the hands of a murderer. But there he was, _alive _and apparently unharmed, trying to look brave as he awkwardly moved his head in circles, searching left to right and even scanning the sky. Brennan guessed that he was looking for Booth. She was pretty sure Parker believes his dad is a super hero, a myth that Booth himself helped to perpetuate. 'This,' Brennan thought, 'is why you don't lie to children. They _believe _you when you tell them Dad is Superman.

Shaking away those irrelevant thoughts, she turned her attention back towards Needling. He looked a little different, she realized. Older, a little harder. Less kept than she remembered. Just 30 years old, he was dressed like a Georgetown co-ed, from his baggy jeans to a black t-shirt bearing only a large purple question mark, barely concealed by his leather jacket. He was leaning, casually it seemed, against a silver BMW. His hand appeared to be resting lightly on his young companion but Brennan could tell by the way Parker hunched his shoulder that Needling was hurting the boy. His other hand was tucked in the pocket of his jacket, probably resting on the trigger of a GP 35, his typical weapon of choice. From her vantage point, Brennan thought she could probably approach Needling from behind and possibly catch him off guard. She knew Needling compensated for a weak body with a conniving intellect. If she could get in a single solid punch, she was pretty sure the skinny coward would drop like a hot eggplant, or however that saying went. Frantically she glanced at her watch. Four minutes. She looked back at Parker. The risk was too great to take. She couldn't afford to make a mistake. Parker's life was too high a price to pay.

Deciding that all she could do was to be with Parker and try to help Booth find them both, Brennan dug for a note pad and pen. Quickly jotting some information on the top sheet, she crumpled the paper into the palm of her hand. She almost smiled when she realized her note may be as baffling as one of Needling's riddles but she couldn't take any chances. Assuming Needling would take her purse, she shoved the pad and the pen into the upper of her knee-high boots and began circling towards the entrance of the parking lot. She quickly dropped the crumpled note next to an empty trash can and joined a group exiting a public bus. She knew the instant Needling spotted her; his smile was anticipation, thrill, and slight surprise all at once.

Watching her approach, Needling tightened his hand on Parker's shoulder. "Well, well, well, Little Booth. She came after all."

Parker's head whipped in the direction Needling was looking and he leaped slightly when he saw Bones walking towards him. "I told you she would come," Parker pouted.

"So you did. So you did," Needling acknowledged. "Dr. Brennan," he greeted softly. His voice was the same tone as a polite school boy and Brennan saw the shiver of fear race through Parker when he spoke.

"Greg," Brennan nodded. "I'm here now so you can let the boy go. Go get on the bus, Parker." Parker tried to move away but Needling dragged the child back against him. "Not so fast, Dr. Brennan. You'll recall I only promised Little Booth would live if you arrived in time. I never said I would let him go. By the way, Temperance- May I call you Temperance? Thanks," he acknowledged her silence. "You cut it a little close to the wire, don't you think? A public bus," he shook his head, "very risky, no?"

"I ride to work with my partner," Brennan lied, praying Parker wouldn't try to contradict her. The boy seemed to understand her silent signals as he remained quiet.

"Ah, yes," Needling nodded, "well, we mustn't involve him just yet. Wise choice, then."

"Greg, this is between you and me and Booth. You have me. You don't need the child anymore."

"Oh, but I do. After all, I don't have Agent Booth yet, do I? How can I be sure he will come for just you?"

"He will," Brennan promised. "We're partners. We're… He will," she repeated.

"Ahh," Needling grinned. "More than just partners, eh? I suspected as much. Nonetheless," he continued, "this little man is my insurance policy. So. No more talking, please. We have a schedule to keep. Now," he gestured towards the car door he had just opened. "Ladies first, Little Booth. Always let the ladies go first."

When Brennan didn't move Needling shoved the barrel of his gun sharply into Parker's back so that the boy gasped in surprised pain. "That sound you hear, Temperance, is how it feels when a GP with a silencer is shoved into a child's spine. If you don't want to hear it again, I suggest you get in the car."

Without seeing any alternative, Brennan climbed into the backseat. Needling shoved Parker behind her before slamming the door shut. While he circled the car towards the driver's door, Parker huddled against her and whispered, "I knew you would come, Bones. You're Wonder Woman."

* * *

Booth was in Brennan's office with Angela trying to reach Bones on her cell phone when DCPD Captain Jason Little and five officers arrived at the Jeffersonian. Cam greeted the police at the door. "Shit," Cam whispered when Jason just shook his head. "Nothing?"

"Not nothing," Jason replied, "but we don't have them. Let's find Booth, Camille, so I only have to say all of this once." Cam searched his face silently before nodding and leading the way towards Brennan's office.

"Seeley-" Booth looked up and saw Cam standing in the doorway with Jason by her side.

Rising quickly he spoke, "Jay, did you find them? Did you find my son?"

"We don't have your boy, Agent Booth, but we are going to find him. You believe me, right? We are going to find him but we need your help." No one mentioned it when tears began to fall silently down the FBI agent's face. "I'm not positive, but it seems Needling isn't the only one leaving us clues."

"What do you mean?" Angela asked at the same time Booth whispered, "Bones."

Jason nodded, reaching in his pocket to remove a crumbled post-it with the Jeffersonian logo embossed lightly in the background. "My boys found this near a trash can at the Memorial. It looked like a normal piece of trash but my guy, he recognized the logo. It was dropped next to a completely empty trash can and it struck my officer as a little odd. Even more odd after he read it, so he brought it to me. Now I know Dr. Brennan is the biggest of y'all's big brains so I'm guessing this note is some kind of clue. She must have realized we would get to the Memorial eventually. I'm guessing she wanted to make sure this Needling guy and anyone he was working with wouldn't see that she was giving us clues. I don't know for sure, but if this is from Dr. Brennan, it's in some sort of code. " Jason scratched his chin in thought as he glanced at the note. "That's as far as I get, however."

Booth snatched the note from the officer's hand and began to read:

JSH4,  
Will Hanschen. U Need Z.  
5 M 74. Md 15 (7)(4) 15 (9) 106.  
B: PB paladin.

The note was shaking in Booth's hand when he glanced at Angela. "Parker's ok. He's ok and Bones, she's with him."

Jason peered over Booth's shoulder at the note. "You got all that from this note?"

"Paladin," Booth replied. "It was Donovan Decker… this kid we saved, it was the safe word he and his dad used. She's telling me he's safe. Bones is with him. She's with him," Booth's voice trailed to a whisper.

Angela took the note from Booth and glanced at it briefly before turning to Cam. "You need to call Sweets."

"Sweets?" Cam asked in surprise.

Angela nodded. "Yeah. Sweets needs to get Zack out. We need Zack. And this note, it's for Hodgins. JSH, those are his initials. Jack Stanley Hodgins the Fourth." Angela leaned out the door and shouted, "Jack!"

Hodgins came running around a corner. "Ange? I'm here. I was just talking to Sweets. He's on his way. So is Max."

"Hodgins, we need- Wait, Max?" Booth asked.

Hodgins shrugged. "It's his child too and, well, I figured a guy like Max couldn't hurt at a time like this, right?"

"No, you're right. Calling Max was good. And… Shit!" Booth spun towards Jason. "I need someone to find Rebecca. Parker's mother. I don't… I don't know who he was with when Needling got to him and-"

"Agent Booth," Jason interrupted. "Parker's mother is en route to GW Hospital. She's fine," Jason held Booth still with a hand on his shoulder. "She's fine," he repeated, "but we found her passed out in her car in the Memorial's parking lot . We believe he gave her some sort of sedative so she's not talking but the paramedic, he said all her vitals were fine. She's unharmed, Agent Booth, and in custody."

"Ok. Ok. I can't- I can't go to her now but she… she has a boyfriend. Drew… Ahh, Andrew Mandalay. Someone should call him, let him know about Rebecca."

"I'll take care of that right away, Agent Booth," Jason nodded towards one of his officers. "Dr. Hodg- Hodgins?" Hodgins nodded. "We have a note from Dr. Brennan that we could really use your help with." Angela held the note out and the entire group leaned over his shoulder as Hodgins attempted to decipher Bones' clue.

"Hmm. This," Hodgins pointed. "She's telling us we need Zack. The Z-man. Someone needs to get Sweets to-"

"We got that part, Jack." Booth interrupted. "Give us the rest."

"Ok. 'Hanschen,' I think that's German but I have no idea what it means. We can run a search or… Get the Brit! He'll know!"

Cam stepped to the doorway to shout, "Mr. Nigel-Murray. Dr. Brennan's office, now!"

Hodgins continued, "she wants _me _to understand. These numbers should mean something to _me."_

"Yeah, so?" Booth urged.

"I…" Hodgins shook his head in frustration. "I don't…"

Booth slammed his fist on the desk, causing everyone to jump but Angela wrapped her hands around Hodgins's face. "Jack, look at me. At me. This is just like when you and Bren were trapped in that car, remember? You used numbers then too. You understand numbers, Jack, that's why Bren wrote the note to you. So let's do this one at a time. What does the number 5 mean to you?"

"Ahh. It's a prime number and a Fibonacci and-"

"You called for me Dr. Saroyan?" Nigel-Murray entered the room out of breath.

"Yes, we need to know what… Where were you Mr. Nigel-Murray?"

"Um, I was with the other police. Trying to tell them that Dr. Brennan would never leave Agent Booth's son. They think maybe she's not with him."

Cam smiled softly at the intern. "You're right, Mr. Nigel-Murray. We know now that Dr. Brennan is with Parker. Just stay there a minute. We may need you. And," Cam stressed when he opened his mouth to reply, "do _not _speak until spoken to, understand?"

"Back at me, Jack." Angela pulled Hodgins face back towards hers. "The number 5?"

"Right. Umm… it's the atomic number for Boron and… Wait!" Hodgins began scribbling frantically on the piece of paper.

"There it is," Angela smiled and turned to Booth. "He's got it."

"Got what?" Booth shouted.

"I've got _it_," Hodgins replied. "The numbers, the ones without parenthesis, they're from the periodic table. Boron, Tungsten, Phosphorus, Phosphorus, and Seaborgium. She got lucky with this. Really lucky." Hodgins passed the note, now including his writing, back to Jason. "He's in a BMW, Maryland plates, license number P74 P9SG." Hodgins leaned back in his chair with a relief typically reserved for sprinters at the end of 100 meters.

"You're sure?" Jason asked.

"I'm sure," Hodgins replied. "He's sure," the rest of the group spoke simultaneously.

"Ok. We're taking a leap of faith with you here, Dr. Hodgins. I'm going to get that number out, see what we can find."

Hodgins nodded but Cam shouted, "Wait! Mr. Nigel-Murray, 'Hanschen'? What's that mean?"

"Ah… I believe you are referring to '_Hanschen,'_"he corrected Cam's pronunciation. "That's an alternate form of the German name 'Hans' or 'Hansel'. As in Hansel and Gretel, which, incidentally-"

"That's it!" Angela smiled broadly. "'Will _Hansel' _is what she means. She's going to leave us a trail, just like Hansel does in the story. She's going to lead us to Parker, Booth."


	4. Now the Real Game Begins

Here you go guys, Chapter 4. I made the mistake of editing this really late at night because I'm going away for a few days and I wanted to get this chapter out before I left. Therefore, I apologize if there are more grammatical/typo errors than usual. All are entirely my fault! Enjoy and feel free to guess where Bones and Parker are headed in the reviews. Some of the clue is personal to Needling's back story (which you don't know yet) but there are parts that can actually be figured out. I'm curious to see if anyone actually does.

**

* * *

**

Chpt. 4 Now the Real Game Begins

"Gregory, isn't it time to call Agent Booth?"

"And why would I want to do that, Dr. Brennan?" Needling inquired with a glance in his rearview mirror. "Oh, I'm sorry, you asked me to call you Temperance. Temperance, why would—"

Brennan interrupted, "Because we are driving in circles and you and I both know you need Agent Booth to play this game of chase."

"We're playing chase?" Parker whispered. "Cause me and my friends don't play chase with—"

"Shh, Parker. Gregory, the sooner you call Booth with your next clue, the sooner we can actually start going wherever you have prearranged to take us."

"My dear Temperance, this is why I love you." Parker opened his mouth to respond to Needling's declaration but Brennan's light squeeze on his knee silenced whatever he planned to say. Needling continued, unaware of their silent byplay. "Always processing, always thinking five steps ahead. I have to do the same thing when I play my game. You and I, we are a lot alike: both careful planners, meticulous attention to detail, relying on intelligence and wit rather than emotion and brute strength. Your Agent Booth, he's all emotion and brute strength and I wonder sometimes how you can stand him. People like us, people who are forced to live _surrounded _by inferiors, we must stick together. No one else can understand us. There are so few who can a mind like yours and mine, Temperance."

"I have an IQ of 165. You have an IQ in the 140s, if I remember correctly. _You _are inferior to me," Brennan stated simply. "What you do, killing…" She trailed off and snuck at glance at the now wide-eyed Parker, suddenly responding to an unfamiliar instinct to censor herself. She cleared her throat, "Your mind, it's not hard to understand. It's crazy, yes, but really rather unintelligent."

Needling stared silently at Brennan in the rearview mirror until the blare of an angry horn warned him that the BMW had drifted into another lane. He jerked the car back into his lane and shrieked, "Shut. Up. Shut the fuck up." Gone was the polite school boy; this was a toddler who had been told 'No'. "I am not crazy. I am not unintelligent. I am _not_ stupid," he stressed. "You think you are so smart. The brilliant Dr. Brennan. How smart were you two years ago, huh? How long did it take you to catch me? Me, who's so inferior. How smart were you while I was murdering seven women?"

"Seven?" Brennan breathed in shock while Parker stiffened in mute awareness beside her.

"Well," Needling drawled, his voice calming and his smile turning smug. "No so smart after all, are you? Did you think that the three women I told the idiot police about were the only women I've killed? If I hadn't sent the DC police my clues, if I hadn't wanted to play a game, no one ever would have found me. No one."

Brennan tried to reassure Parker with a hand against his shaking knee while she thought quickly. "Casey—Casey James, she wasn't your first? But—But you worked with her. You went on dates with her, even met her parents. She was the only one you knew."

"And the psychologists all agree that the first is important," Needling acknowledged with a nod. "The first is the one they know, the one that somehow flips the switch. You surprise me, Temperance, relying on mere theories invented by psychologists."

"I wasn't talking about some pseudo-science, Gregory. Real science often rests on carefully documented statistics. The laws of averages. Statistics show that a serial's first death is, on average, the one that bears some kind of particular, personal importance to the perpetrator. The others tend to mirror that first but personal knowledge of the subsequent victims is uncommon. Casey James was the only one you had a connection with. She was the first you called about and the only one you knew."

"Not true, Temperance," he tsked. "Casey merely came into my life at the proverbial wrong place and wrong time. And she loved me. So tedious," he sighed. "But, the shrinks and the statistics, they are right. My first," his smile grew nostalgic, "my first was… special. She was the best. The others, they were all so _boring_. That's why I had to invent my game. The game was fun. _Is_ fun," he laughed, "which brings this chat full circle because, yes, we will soon be calling your Agent Booth with a clue." He slowed the car as he merged off the interstate. Brennan followed the markers closely but nothing revealed their ultimate destination. "Tell me, Temperance; is Agent Booth as smart as you?"

"Of course not," she answered honestly.

Needling giggled while Parker turned to Brennan and defended his father. "My dad's smart! Way smarter than you! He knows everything there is to know about monkeys and socks and girls and—and bad guys!"

Brennan smiled, slightly condescendingly, at Parker and nodded, "He does know a lot about bad guys," she conceded. "But not very much at all about the rest of your list."

Parker crossed his arms and stared at her in stony silence while Needling continued to giggle in delight. "Little Booth is not happy with you Temperance but he does seem rather unfazed by his current dire predicament."

"He's nine," Brennan shrugged.

"Yes, well," Needling dismissed Parker like a mere pawn on his chessboard. "Your colleagues, Dr. Brennan, are they as brilliant as you?"

"Not as individuals, though they have proven to be quite industrious when working together."

"And do you have faith that they will be able to solve my little clues in time? Without you to help?"

Brennan thought for a moment before responding, "That would only require that they be smarter than _you_ and I am quite certain they are more intelligent than you. Except maybe Angela," she added thoughtfully, "but she is quite adept at other useful skills. So, yes, I believe they will solve your clues in time. That is a reasonable deduction, not based in any sort of faith."

"You are positively delightful, Temperance," Needling beamed.

Brennan surprised him by returning his reflected smile. "Is that why you contacted me about Booth's child, Greg? Were you afraid to let me play your game this time? Afraid I would win? Again?"

Needling's hand tightened menacingly on the steering wheel but he remained silent as he pulled the car into a gas station. His voice was tight when he finally turned to face Parker and Brennan. "I am going to get gasoline now and I'm going to bring my gun with me. You would be well served not to provoke me further. If you'll notice, my gas tank is on Little Booth's side of the vehicle. How much damage do you think a bullet can do to a nine year old boy when fired through a car door at extremely close range?" Recognizing Needling's threat, Parker forgot about his anger and huddled against Brennan's side. "If you try to escape, if you so much as _move_," Needling traced the butt of the gun gently along Parker's thigh, "you will find out."

Shaking her head, Brennan began to mumble under her breath, "Alpha, Beta, Gamma…"

"Do you hear me, Dr. Brennan? Or are you too busy mumbling nonsense?"

"I—I—" Brennan forced herself to stammer. "I'm sorry. It's just—just—the gun's so close and—and he's just a boy and… I recite the Greek alphabet when I get really nervous."

Needling laughed out loud. He laughed so hard, he lowered the gun from Parker's thigh and swiped tears from his eyes. "God, how miserable high school must have been for you," he laughed. "I'll leave you to your genius-level stammering, Temperance. Just be sure you remember what I said."

When the door slammed shut, Parker turned to Brennan and whispered, "Did he really kill seven ladies, Bones? Is he gonna kill us?"

"He's a very bad man Parker but your dad knows a lot about bad guys, remember?" Parker sniffled and nodded.

"What were you whispering? You are supposed to say 'Bravo' after 'Alpha.' My Daddy taught me."

Brennan's voice dropped to a low whisper. "That was a different alphabet. Listen to me, Parker. He is going to call your dad soon and I need you to be really quiet when he does. I need to pay attention to what he says and I need to make sure your dad can hear me. So, no talking, ok? Unless," she turned to briefly look him in the eye, "if I squeeze your leg, I want you to shout 'Daddy' just once. Just one time, really loudly and clearly, ok? Can you do that? We need to make sure your dad knows you are safe."

"Ok," Parker swiped at his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. "What about you? How will Dad know you are safe too, Bones?"

Brennan ran a quick hand through his shaggy hair in what Booth would have realized was an endearingly awkward attempt to comfort the young child. "He'll know Parks. But I think just this once, yours is going to be the voice he most wants to hear. He's coming back," she noted. "Remember what I told you."

Needling stepped back into the car. His glance at Brennan was scolding. "Temperance, what did you say to make Little Booth cry? Questioning his daddy's intelligence again? Well, buck up, little man," he said before Brennan could reply. "We are about to call your daddy on this handy little phone I've got. Let's get this car back on the road, and then I'll let you hear what your dad sounds like when he's yelling at someone other than naughty little Booths."

When they were back on the interstate, Needling lifted his gun off his lap and pulled Parker's leg between the seats. Holding the gun against a knobby knee, he warned Parker, "I am about to make a very important phone call. If you disturb me, young man, the punishment will hurt much more than a spanking." Brennan again began to mumble, "Chi, Omicron, Lambda…" Needling laughed and nodded in her direction. "You're nervous. Good, we understand each other." He pressed the first speed dial and set the phone to speaker. Once it began to ring he put the phone in a dash holster and tapped his gun in cheery rhythm against Parker's leg.

"Jefferson Institute, how can I help you?"

"Yes, good evening, dear. May I speak with Federal Agent Seeley Booth?"

"I'm sorry, sir," responded a bored voice. "The Jeffersonian is closed for the evening. Can I transfer you to an employee's voicemail?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure Agent Booth will consent to speak to me directly. Perhaps you could ring Dr. Brennan's extension? Please tell whoever answers, as I'm certain someone will, that Agent Booth's babysitter is calling and we have a slight emergency."

"I'll try," the operator responded skeptically. "Please hold."

* * *

Booth was rhythmically knocking his fist against the Institute's glass doors as Jason spoke. "We ran the plates Dr. Brennan gave us. Silver BMW, 2008, reported stolen in Odenton, Maryland two weeks ago. It doesn't look like he changed plates. We added the info to the APB. It was a judgment call but we decided to keep the information out of the Amber Alert on the radio and television. It could help but we didn't want to tip him off about Dr. Brennan's Hanseling."

Booth dropped his forehead to rest against the cold glass. "He thinks I'm cool. Super dad." Booth banged his head hard against the glass one time.

"Excuse me?"

"My job, he thinks it's cool. Like a super hero. I catch bad guys. Rebecca—his mom—she hated, hates, my job. It scares her. But Parker, he thinks it's cool. He's not afraid because Dad can catch the baddest bad guy. I let him believe that."

"My kids think I'm invincible," Jason responded. "I don't see them much, since my divorce." Booth turned his head against the glass to look at the officer who shrugged sheepishly. "When you aren't there much, being the cool parent is about all you've got left. I was shot, in the line, last year. Just a flesh wound," he continued thoughtfully, instinctively massaging over the scar where a bullet had grazed his hip. "But I'm in the hospital and my little girl, she's seven, and she's sitting on my lap with these scrawny little arms wrapped around me and my neck, the collar to my hospital gown, is just soaked with tears. Betsy, my girl, she's a crier so this is no big deal except she's completely silent. No sobs, no wails, not even a hiccup. Just a flood of silent tears running down her face. It killed me," he shook his head. "Hurt more than the damn bullet, watching my baby girl cry these grown-up tears. So, I lift up my gown and I show her my bandage and I whisper in her ear. I tell her, 'that bad guy couldn't hurt me baby. All I got was this band-aid. He couldn't hurt Daddy because Daddy's too tough. Too tough for some smelly old bad guy.' And there it is: she starts giggling because I called him smelly and suddenly she's a kid again. A kid who thinks her dad is tougher than a bullet." Jason laid a light hand on the fist Booth had curled against the doors. "We don't want our kids to be scared, Booth. God knows we spend our days scared enough for them."

"Yeah," Booth ran a weary hand over his eyes. "Yeah." He turned sharply when he heard Cam running towards them calling his name.

"Booth," Cam skidded to a stop in front of the men. "The switchboard's calling Brennan's office. Told Angela they have your babysitter on the phone with an emergency." Booth took off in a sprint towards Brennan's office with Cam and Jason close behind.

"Speaker phone," Angela stated before Booth could snatch up the receiver. "The operator's still on."

"Transfer the call," Booth stated at the same time Jason laid a hand on his wrist and said, "Wait. Wait just one minute."

"Transfer the damn call," Booth repeated.

"Agent Booth," Jason kept his tone professional, cop-to-cop. "It's him. He wants you rattled; wants you shaken. Little battles win the war. We aren't letting him win. So, take just a minute." He turned to point at Hodgins. "I want you taking notes. Focus on any clues, first impressions. We only get one shot at first impressions and sometimes they are the whole ballgame. Ms. Montenegro, can you tape the conversation? And handle the trace?" Angela nodded and began entering a series of keys into Brennan's computer. "Camille, stand by. Booth, Agent Booth, you know what to do here. Ask questions, ascertain everyone's safety, keep him on the line, and stay calm. You _know_ what to do." Booth nodded slowly and Angela gestured that she was ready to go. "Ok, people. Operator, please transfer the call," Jason ordered.

"Hello?" Booth began.

"Good evening, Agent Booth! I trust by now you and your team have figured out my little prank. I have infiltrated enemy lines and now I've stolen your mascot _and _your team's best player on the eve of our celebrated rematch."

"Needling," Booth had to grind his teeth to keep his voice relatively calm. "Where the fuck is my son?"

"Ah, Agent Booth, I'm pretty sure whatever DCPD officer you have with you is frowning at that break in protocol. Who does have the honors, by the way? Is it Lieutenant Phyllus? Because I rather enjoyed him." Booth glanced at Jason who shrugged and spoke up, "Captain Little, DCPD."

"Captain Little? I don't believe we've met Captain. Welcome to my game. And let me see… I'm guessing we are also joined by Dr. Sarayon, Dr. Hodgins and Ms. Montenegro. The opposing team, as I like to call your little merry band. A pity the young phenom Dr. Addy is no longer competing. Now, on the count of three everybody, let's hear a big round of helloes. One, two—"

"Where is my son, Needling?"

"There you go breaking protocol again Agent Booth. You are supposed to let me talk, ramble even, while your esteemed colleagues attempt to trace my call. No matter; you're protocol won't work here anyway so please don't fret. You see, you meet the most interesting people in prison. My cellmate spent his nights strangling young gay prostitutes in San Francisco but he spent his days riding that Silicon tsunami. He taught me a trick or two and assures me that, unlike the last time I played my game, I can talk on this particular phone as long as I please with no worries." Booth turned to Angela who shook her head and mouthed 'No trace.' "Isn't it delicious irony, Agent Booth, that by incarcerating me you actually were helping me to beat you in the end? You thought our game was over when you put me in jail but really, that was just my seventh inning stretch."

"My son, Needling. I want to speak to my son."

"Oh all right. Little Booth, tell your dad hello."

Five pairs of eyes closed in relief when Parker's wail 'Daddy' echoed loud and clear throughout the office.

"Park—Parker," Booth's voice broke once in a sob. "I hear you little man. Daddy's going to find you Parks. I promise, just like Martin of Tours, remember Parker? I'm going to find you. You just wait for me, ok, Parker. Just be quiet and do what Needling tells you to do and you wait for Daddy to come get you—"

"Ok, Agent Booth, that's enough. As you heard, Little Booth is quite well for now."

"Let me talk to him, Needling. Make certain he is unharmed."

"You will just have to trust me on that one, Agent."

"What about Bones? Dr. Brennan," he corrected at Jason's swift shake of his head. "Is Dr. Brennan there? Let me talk to her."

Needling's laugh was giddy. "Bones? You call Temperance 'Bones' like your son? How…adorable. The three of you make quite an attractive family. Of course, you are technically at work so I guess we mustn't discuss your fascinating extra-curricular activities with the brilliant Dr. Brennan. Now, I won't normally be so accommodating, but yes, that nervous chatter you hear—" He held the phone towards Brennan who continued to mumble 'Chi, Omicron, Lambda, Kappa, Zeta, Tau, Theta, Pi, Eta, Zeta… "—is a very healthy Bones. Weird habit, huh, her nervous recitations?" Angela shared a confused glance with Hodgins. "Nonetheless, you'll hear she is quite well. Now, let's please get busy. You know the game, Agent Booth, but for those who need a refresher on the rules: I am headed to a very special location. I will remain there for 48 hours while the lovely Dr. Brennan and I get to know each other better. 48 hours, Agent, and the clock starts when I end this phone call. If you can decipher my rhyme and find us within the 48 hours, I will gladly return Little Booth to you unharmed. If you do not, well… Let's not scare the boy. Do you recall how young Julie looked when you found her Agent Booth?"

"You stupid son of a bitch, when I find—"

"Shh, Agent Booth, anger makes for very poor judgment. You'll want to watch what you say if you want a chance to see your son. And you will _not_ call me stupid again."

"Is that your trigger, Needling? Don't like to be called stupid? Let me guess. Your parents called you stupid, worthless. Told you that you would never amount to anything? That's a story I've heard before from more people than I care to count. But in your case, I'm not buying it. Because, you see, I've met your parents and they're ok people. I got the impression they weren't around enough to call you stupid. Probably pretty shitty parents, all told, what with their jobs and affairs and what not but they're not monsters. They didn't set out to raise a monster. So, I'm not buying the excuse that they scarred you that much."

"Oh, Agent Booth," Needling sighed in dismay. "The parents? Such a tired cliché. Nonetheless, I must insist, if you want to see Parker again, you will refrain from calling me stupid."

"Wait," Booth suddenly caught on. "You said, 'if I want to see _Parker _again. You said you would give me Parker. What about Bones? You will give me Bones when I find you."

"_When _you find me? Let's not be cocky, Agent Booth. It's unseemly. But, yes, your powers of observation are in order. I've found I'm quite attached to Temperance. She won't be going with you, Agent Booth, whether or not you accomplish your task. To use a pair of clichés, her fate is to ride off into the sunset with me or to go down in a blaze of glory. With me. I won't be returning to prison," he said decisively, "and she will not be returning to Washington."

"Listen, Needling. No one watches a whole baseball game anymore. It's the ninth inning when the real action starts. Let's speed this game up. You tell me where you are, I'll come, and we'll talk about how you can avoid going back to jail. I can help you out with that, if you let me. I can keep you out of jail. But if you touch my son, if you put one bruise on his body, you will never be safe again. I will hunt you. I will find you. I will spend every minute of my life finding you so that I can put you back in jail. And hear this: I've put guys in every federal prison in this country. Mostly they hate me but what do you think some of those guys would be willing to do for me if I promised them a couple of lenient guards, maybe a good work assignment, and a favorable testimony at their parole hearing? Favorable testimony by the arresting FBI officer? I'm guessing they'd be willing to do some pretty fucked up stuff for that. You hurt my boy, Needling, you hurt Bones, and I swear I will find you, I will put your ass in jail, and I will make _sure_ you have one of those guys as your cellmate. Just thinking about the nights you two will have together makes me all tingly inside. You think about that when you are looking at my son."

Silence reigned on the line for so long that Jason was afraid they had lost him. "Shit!" he exclaimed, prepared to berate Booth for losing control, when Needling finally released one shaky breath.

"Impressive, Agent Booth. Very impressive. Start with a sports analogy, a game, getting on my level, so to speak. Offer me a very sweet carrot, and then follow up that offer with a harsh, and plausible, threat. Well done. That shrink who wrote the book on you and Temperance would be very proud. I, however, am certain that I will not be returning to prison, whatever happens to Little Booth. So neither your offer nor your threat is of much interest to me."

"How can you be so sure—"

"That's enough chit-chat, I'm afraid. Our spectators are restless for the games to begin. Listen closely please:

Back to where it started, my dearest departed, buried in an unmarked grave;  
Stephen and Brown, both born in this town, died for all lives to save;  
Set in September, how well I remember, the river shined brightest that day;  
And from a house, where I went to a mouse, so this game we could play.

"48 hours, Agent. Goodnight and good luck."


	5. Sometimes It's Only Maddness

**Chpt. 5 Sometimes It's Only Madness that Makes Us What We Are**

"Needling! Need—"

"He's gone, Booth. Ms. Montenegro, the trace?"

Angela shook her head in response to Jason's question. "He's right, no trace. It wasn't just a matter of his signal bouncing all over. There was no signal to trace; nothing. I don't know how he did it."

Jason acknowledged her frustration calmly and opened his cell phone. "You've got to expect that kind of thing when you're working with a guy like this. I'm going to guess the stuff you have here is as good as or better than the technology we've got at the precinct—"

"Better," Hodgins assured him.

"—But let me check with Agent Booth's colleagues at the FBI." He spoke into his phone, "Hey Charlie, anything?" Jason filled the room in with a quick shake of his head. "Ok, let me know," he said as he hung up. "They are as perplexed as you Ms. Montenegro, but—"

"Of course they are," Hodgins interrupted again. "Hacks."

"Ignore him," Cam said dryly while flicking Hodgins a warning glare. "But what?"  
"The FBI is going to send some guys to roust Needling's old cell buddy. See if they can figure out this technology. The 'hacks' have already id'd the guy as Tracey Trainor and men are en route to USP-Florence in Colorado to talk to him. Chances are, if this guy developed the block, he knows how to get around it as well. As Agent Booth said, there isn't much a guy staring at a life term won't do for a few well-placed favors." Jason turned to Booth who had yet to speak. It appeared Booth was trying to catch his breath and Jason beckoned silently to Angela who quickly knelt beside Booth and whispered into his ear.

"No one beats Brennan, Booth. No one. She's got your boy and we've got you. The FBI, the DC police and all of your squints are working to keep Parker safe." All Booth could manage was one curt nod but Jason could tell his breathing was slowing.

"Camille, get your Brit in here again. We need all hands—brains—on deck." Cam nodded to Jason and stepped out to retrieve Mr. Nigel-Murray. "Before we get to the clue, or the tape, let's start with you, Fletcher Christian." Hodgins had to grin at Jason's reference to Britain's most famous mutineer. "First impressions first. Let me see your notes." Still grinning, Hodgins passed his notes to Jason who snatched them away. After a few seconds of palpable silence, Jason slapped the notes back in front of Hodgins. "What the hell is this mess?"

"That's a little old fashioned shorthand. My grandmother taught it to me when I was a kid so I would stop asking her what all the notes around the house meant. She swore it would come in handy one day. Man was she right, huh? Would you like me to translate?" Hodgins asked innocently.

Jason growled low in his throat but Booth finally spoke up. "Jack," was all he said and that single quiet word encompassed both plea and threat. Chastised, Hodgins sobered and relayed his notes.

"First, I don't think they are in DC anymore."

"Why not?" Angela asked. "All of his kills were in DC. He grew up here. He came all the way back here. It's his base. Shouldn't we assume he's here somewhere?"

"I'd tend to agree with you, Ms. Montenegro, but I told you, first impressions of a conversation lend all kinds of insight. Why do you think he's left DC, Dr. Hodgins?"

"He told Booth," Hodgins glanced at his notes, "that Dr. B 'will not be returning to Washington.' That sounds like she's already left. I don't think he's smart enough to make that kind of mistake on purpose. He was caught up in his game, not reading from a script."

"Good," Jason nodded. "This is what I was talking about—observation. We'll cover our bases in DC, Ms. Montenegro, but for now we'll assume they have left the city."

"Dr. Brennan doesn't like the word 'assume.'" Everyone turned at the interruption.

"Zack." Angela jumped up and rushed to embrace the young man standing in front of Cam, Dr. Lance Sweets and Mr. Nigel-Murray. She leaned back with her arms locked around him and gave a watery laugh. "God, it's good to see you back in the lab." Angela reached down and instinctively linked her fingers with Hodgins's when she felt him move to stand next to her. "I'm so sorry you are back for this."

"You didn't kidnap Agent Booth's son, Angela," Zack replied as he shook Hodgins's free hand. Realizing his comment may have been insensitive by the way Hodgins was squeezing his hand, Zack peered around the couple and met Booth's eyes. "Parker called me 'cool' when he found out I built his robot. He's the only person to ever call me 'cool' in my life." Booth acknowledged Zack's attempt at sympathy with a quick handshake. He nearly smiled when he felt Zack comfort him with an open-palmed pat on the shoulder.

Jason, who had been introducing himself to Sweets, spoke to the collective group. "Dr. Hodgins has given us reason to _believe_," he stressed with a sidelong glance at Zack, "Needling may have left DC. We are currently working our way through Dr. Hodgins's impressions of Needling's most recent communication. We have been given 48 hours to find his location and ensure the safe return of Agent Booth's son so we do not have time to waste. Dr. Sweets, I'd appreciate any psychological perspective you can provide. I assume—I trust you are up to speed on Needling's background?" Sweets nodded and moved to sit next to Booth in a silent gesture of solidarity. "Good. Dr. Addy, I understand you are our best clue solver so feel free to jump in at anytime. You too, Mr. Nigel-Murray."

"Ah, you don't want to do that, Jay," Cam responded. "Mr. Nigel-Murray, you will only speak when I grant you permission, do you understand me?"

While Cam was lecturing Nigel-Murray, Jason spoke respectfully under his breath to Zack. "I realize everyone here believes you got a raw deal, Dr. Addy, but you will not step foot from this lab under any circumstances. Are we clear, Dr. Addy?"

Zack shrugged, "It's where I want to be, anyway." Angela caught Zack's wistful reply and wrapped an arm around his waist. After a long search of Zack's face, Jason finally stepped away and cleared his throat, recapturing the room's attention.

"Dr. Hodgins, what next?"

"Umm… The nervous chatter thing Dr. B was doing? The 'weird habit,' Needling called it? That's not a habit."

"It's not?"

Hodgins shook his head while Cam responded, "I agree. I've never heard Dr. Brennan 'chatter' about anything."

"She doesn't get nervous, either," Booth confirmed. "Unless there are snakes involved. I've been in a lot of bad situations with Bones and she doesn't get nervous. She gets calm and-and kick ass," he conceded.

Angela smiled in Booth's direction. "You remember that when you think about Parker. Bren is with him and she is calm and kick ass right now."

"Ok," Booth sighed. "Ok. So what's she telling us, Hodgins?"

"I think she's Hanseling again," Hodgins replied, relishing their new word.

"Hanseling?" Zack and Sweets asked simultaneously.

"Leaving us clues, hints," Angela answered.

"Like Hansel and Gretel," Mr. Nigel-Murray offered before Cam's frown shut him up.

"Right. I think the nervous chatter is a clue."

"But what does it mean, Jack? What is Brennan telling us?" Angela repeated.

"I don't know." He looked at Zack as he repeated, "'Chi, Omicron, Lambda, Kappa, Zeta, Tau, Theta, Pi, Eta, Zeta'. That's all I've got."

"All are letters of the Greek alphabet—" Nigel-Murray began but Cam smacked him on the side of his head and gestured for Zack to speak instead.

"They're Greek letters, but not in order. Not even close. I don't know what they are supposed to mean."

"What about the first letters, kind of like she did with the periodic table?" Angela went to write on Brennan's dry erase board. "C, O, L, K, Z…"

"T, Th, P, E, Z," Hodgins supplied the rest. "I still don't see anything."

"Son of a bitch!" Booth exploded.

"Ok, ok, calm down," Jason waved his hands for peace. "We'll come back to that in a moment. Anything else, Dr. Hodgins?"

"The clue," Hodgins began, "we need to listen to it in full. Let everyone else hear it. But…Umm… 'Stephen and Brown,' Zack should run a Boolean Search to see what those two might mean together." Zack nodded and moved towards Brennan's computer. "And 'September,'" Hodgins continued, "the only woman he killed in September was Julie Cushing, so I think we should go back and study all there is to know about her death."

"Good," Jason nodded, "that's good. More?"

"Only…" Hodgins glanced at Booth. "You reminded Parker of Martin of Tours, Booth. Was that some sort of reverse clue, intended for Dr. Brennan?"

"No," Booth shook his head wearily, "it was for Parker, though Bones knows what it means. It's our safe word, Parker's safe word. I wanted him to know it was really me and that he was safe, that I would find him. I _will_ find him," Booth said decisively.

"St. Martin of Tours," Nigel-Murray educated the room, "patron saint of soldiers and recovering addicts, most often depicted literally giving away the cloak from his back."

"Fitting," Sweets remarked and briefly clasped Booth's shoulder.

"Yeah," Booth said with a sigh. "I thought so."

"Alright," Jason spoke again, "if that's all from you, Dr. Hodgins, I think we should listen to the tape. You three," his gesture encompassed Sweets, Zack and Nigel-Murray, "pay close attention. Ms. Montenegro, if you can begin?"

Angela stepped away from Hodgins and input a series of commands into Brennan's computer over Zack's shoulder. Within moments, Needling's eerie voice pierced the air.

"_Good evening, Agent Booth!_" The room listened silently until Needling began to describe his new phone when Zack suddenly exclaimed, "Wait! Listen! Dr. Brennan, she's saying something in the background. I can't make it out but I think it might be more Greek letters. Maybe if we can hear them all, we can figure out what it means."

"Ms. Montenegro, can you isolate and amplify Dr. Brennan's voice?" Angela's fingers were already flying across the keys and soon Brennan's voice rang out. "Chi, Omicron, Lambda, Kappa, Zeta, Tau, Theta, Pi, Eta, Zeta. Chi, Omicron, Lambda, Kappa, Zeta, Tau, Theta, Pi, Eta, Zeta." Brennan's voice was low but her tone was calm and deliberate as she repeated the same sequence of letters over and over again.

"That's the same sequence from my notes," Hodgins explained. "She's repeating the same number of words, in the same order, every time. It _has_ to mean something."

"It means," Max Brennan spoke from the doorway, "'CJ not first.' Where is my daughter?" The room exploded as everyone began talking at once.

Finally Cam's shout, "Quiet!" penetrated the chaos and the room fell silent once more.

"Thanks," Jason winked at Cam. "You," he pointed to Max, "who are you?"

"I'm Tempe—Temperance—I'm Dr. Brennan's father," Max replied. "I want to know where my little girl is and why you," now Max pointed to Booth accusingly, "are not out looking for her?"

"Wait!" Jason held up a hand to silence Booth's retort. "The clue—the Greek letters, what did you say it means?"

"It means 'CJ not first,'" Max repeated. Angela walked to write the phrase on Brennan's board.

"How do you know that?" Jason demanded.

"It's a code her mother and I used to discuss our…_special_ activities. Our kids were both good spellers so that little parenting trick went out the window real quick. We needed a way to talk about…things, in private, so I came up with a code. My wife and I met in college, presidents of our sorority and fraternity, if you can believe that. We knew our Greek letters. So, I inverted them and assigned each Greek letter a corresponding English letter."

"But there are only 24 letters in the Greek alphabet," Nigel-Murray complained.

Max smiled and nodded. "Right, so I didn't assign a Q or Z. Not very common letters, I figured, and whenever necessary they could be said as normal. You know, 'Z, Kappa, Kappa…'" Max demonstrated, spelling 'zoo'. "It was supposed to be what made the code complicated; the letters don't line up perfectly. Instead, it's exactly how Tempe figured it out. My wife and I were cooking and talking to each other one evening when Tempe looks up from her homework spread across the kitchen table and asks, "Why are you going to Quincy, Illinois, Dad?" I had just spelled 'Quincy' to Ruthie in our code but I had to say the Q. Somehow Tempe figured it out from there. Ruthie and I never used that code again but Tempe, she loved it. Liked to slip it into conversations at the dinner table because her brother, Russ, he couldn't figure it out and it drove him crazy. She liked that, liked using it to tease him. After her mom and I went away, there was no one left who could understand the code. I can't believe she remembered it."

Zack spoke Brennan's words quickly under his breath and translated in his head before nodding, "He's right. If you inverse the order of the Greek alphabet and skip the letters Q and Z, her sequence spells 'CJ not first.' I have no idea what that means."

"Casey James," Booth spoke from the back of the room. "She's telling us Casey James was not the first woman Needling killed."

* * *

After more than five hours driving, Needling steered the car onto a dirt road covered by a dense canopy of Pine, Maple, and Hickory trees. It was nearly midnight and the car was engulfed in darkness under a cloudy sky. Parker had dropped into an exhausted sleep hours before and was now nestled into Brennan's side.

Immediately following the conclusion of Needling's tense phone call with Booth, Brennan had tried to reengage Needling in conversation, hoping to garner a few clues as to their final destination. Needling, however, slid into a sullen, pouting silence and refused to return Brennan's overtures. He muttered to himself, "Threatening me. I have his partner, his _son_, and a really clean gun and he _still _thinks he can threaten me. Calling me stupid. I am not stupid. I am not stupid."

"Greg?" Brennan interrupted his mantra.

"No talking! There will be no more talking until this car stops," Needling shouted and slammed the dash to set the car radio into a blaring selection of classic rock. At some point during the drive, Needling shoved Parker's outstretched leg into the back seat, finally allowing Parker to curl his legs against his chest in a universal position of security.

Watching Needling's hands flex and reflex on the steering wheel, Brennan decided it would be unwise to test Needling in this mood and she remained silent, using the time to mentally evaluate plans to get Parker out of danger. She also tried to pay attention to the road signs and landmarks as they passed so she could follow where they were going but within a few hours, her vision was hindered by the darkness and Needling abandoned the interstate in favor of poorly marked and isolated back roads. A sign welcoming her to Pennsylvania was the last distinguishing marker she saw.

Needling was keenly aware of Brennan's attentive silence and her absorption began to irrationally annoy him. She and the boy were both obeying his directive but instead of calming his nerves, the quiet seemed to have a reverse effect. He could feel his fury bubbling hotter with each passing mile. Stroking his fingertips lovingly over the cold steel of the gun in his lap, he tried to remember what his childhood babysitter used to tell him when his temper took over. "Deep breath in, deep breath out, I don't want to listen to you scream and shout." The rhyme ran through his mind on an endless loop until eventually he was mouthing the words silently. Just like when he was a kid, however, the sing-song rhythm of the rhyme only served to stroke his anxiety. He knew from experience that release—swift, violent, _glorious_ release—was the only way to calm his racing heart.

When Needling turned into the woods that had once been a sanctuary, he rolled down the car's window and inhaled the crisp fall air. The blast of cold caused Parker to whimper in distress and squirm against Brennan's chest. Recognizing that Needling was teetering on a very sharp edge, Brennan tried to settle the boy and coax him back to sleep but the combination of the cold, the loud radio, and the turbulence caused by the dirt road they were now speeding along had all shaken Parker fully awake. Fisting his eyes grumpily, he began to shift jerkily in his seat.

"Bones?" He whispered, "Bones?"

"Shh, Parker, go back to sleep."

"But Bones," he tugged on her thin wool sweater. "I gotta pee again. I gotta go to the bathroom," he corrected with a roll of his eyes when the memory of his mother's scolding voice rang in his ears. "Real bad, Bones."

"Ok, shh," she whispered back. Leaning forward in her seat she spoke quietly to Needling. "Gregory, Parker needs to use the restroom. Can we stop?"

"Again?" Needling grumbled. "No. We are 15 minutes from our destination. I'm not stopping this car until we get there. Little Booth can hold it."

"Parker, can you—" She cut herself off when she turned back to Parker and saw he was frantically shaking his head 'no' and cupping a hand between his tightly clamped legs.

"He's nine, Greg. Fifteen minutes is an eternity to a nine year old who woke up with a full bladder. Trust me, I saw this look on Parker's face once at Booth's. If you don't want to spend our less-than-48 hours together cleaning this car, you should stop."

"I. Am. Not. Stopping." Each word was said between tightly clenched teeth. "The Booths need to realize that _I_ am in charge of this game."

Parker moaned, long and loud.

"Shut him up!" Needling yelled madly.  
Brennan leaned down to whisper to Parker. "Listen to me, Parker. You need to stay quiet. Very quiet."

"But Bones—" She cut off his wail by covering his mouth with her hand.

"Whatever happens, whatever you have to do, Parker, you need to do it quietly, ok?" His eyes filled but he nodded against Booth's hand. He couldn't stop squirming, his legs opening and closing around his hand, but at least he squirmed silently.

After an indeterminable span of Parker shifting around and Brennan casting worried glances in his direction, Needling finally pulled the car to a stop in front of a rustic cabin. Through the pitch-black darkness of a wooded night, Brennan could see only that the cabin was old and apparently well-tended. Waiting for Needling to tell them what to do next, she searched for any distinguishing feature that could show her the location and significance of this place. When Needling turned so that the gun was again pointed towards the backseat, Brennan leaned slightly and used her body to shield Parker. Parker panted when Brennan's protective measure caused her to press sharply against his bladder.

"Alright, Little Booth, stop all that whining. Let's go inside. Slowly," he ordered when Parker tried to bolt from the car. When they had all stepped out, Parker began to run towards the house full out. Thinking the boy was trying to run away, Needling grabbed him by the waist of his pants and pulled him roughly backwards. Parker stumbled to the ground and stress, exhaustion, and physical necessity finally got the better of him and he relieved the pressure on his bladder.

Understanding what had happened, Needling began to laugh at the boy. Parker, emboldened by embarrassment, forgot about the gun, forgot about Brennan's warning, forgot about everything but his rage. "Stop laughing at me!" He shouted. "Stop laughing at me stupid!" Needling quieted and Brennan, frightened by his expression, lurched towards Parker. "My dad is going to find me and you are going back to jail because he is smart and you are stupid. You are a stupid bad guy!"

Brennan reached Parker just as Needling raised his gun hand above his head. Diving in front of Parker and raising her left arm to deflect the blow, Needling's pistol-whip strike slammed into Brennan's forearm and sent her tumbling on top of a petrified Parker. She rolled until only her back was exposed and Parker was completely covered beneath her. With her injured arm trapped between her body and Parker's, she couldn't hold back an anguished cry.

"B-B-Bones?" Parker buried his head against her chest and wept openly.

"My arm," Brennan gasped. "I think it's broken."

* * *

"I don't understand," Max repeated. "This Casey James was killed like four years ago, right? Why do we care about her now? Why did Tempe tell us this?"

"Because if Casey James wasn't the first woman Needling killed, it changes everything we know about him," Sweets replied. "We believed she was his trigger. Witnesses claimed they fought bitterly the day she disappeared. Co-workers reported she had publicly berated him. We believed these incidents caused a psychotic break. If that's not true, if James wasn't his first, we need to know when, _how_, his break began. A serial killer's beginning, the start of the madness that makes him what he is, is the key to understanding him and often, the key to stopping him. Now, we don't know enough about his history; we don't even know how many women he's killed. Psychologically speaking, we don't know him at all."

"It's even more than that," Booth interjected. "Needling's clue began '_Back to where it started, my dearest departed…_' He's talking about his first. If that's not Casey James, we've got nothing. We're nowhere."

"Not nowhere, Seeley." Cam stepped in front of his restless pacing. "We would have started with James. Every thought or theory about the clue would have been tainted by an absolute conviction that Casey James was his first. Dr. Brennan saved us _hours_ of work and manpower."

"Ok, Camille, you're right and _no one_ has more faith in Bones than me. No one is counting on her more. But I still don't know 'where it started'.

"Excuse me," Jason interrupted. "I don't mean to be the naysayer here but how sure are we that Dr. Brennan knows what she is talking about? After all, she's caught up in an extremely stressful situation and…" his voice faded when all seven individuals in the room stared at him, their expressions a mixture of sympathy, incredulity and condescension.

"Dr. Brennan isn't wrong very often," Zack spoke up from behind the computer he was using.

"Hardly ever," Nigel-Murray agreed.

"Jay, Dr. Brennan had one chance to pass us a clue. One shot. She would never waste that chance on something she wasn't absolutely positive was relevant."

He considered the solidarity and certainty among those surrounding him and shrugged. "Ok. Ok. Let's start the tape again, listening to Needling this time. Let's see what else we've got. Here's how I want to do this. We are all going to listen to each line carefully. If anything he says—anything—prompts a thought or a guess or a fact, I want you to shout it out. Ms. Montenegro will write the thoughts on our board and we will see what we've got. At this point, don't worry about relevance. Well, except for you, apparently," he pointed at Nigel-Murray. "Don't edit yourselves. Let's get it on the board, then we'll start weeding out the irrelevant stuff." When everyone had nodded their agreement, Jason restarted the tape.

"_Good evening, Agent Booth!_"

Booth was the first to interrupt. "We should get Phyllus," he said. "The Lieutenant Needling just mentioned. He's retired now but he worked Needling for months before Bones and I came on board. He'll come back for this and he knows Needling better than anyone. He was the only one who floated the idea that Needling may have killed more women than the three we gave him credit for. He should be here."

"Ok," Jason nodded as Angela wrote 'Lt. Phyllus' on the board. Heading towards the door, Jason said, "I'll get one of my guys to go talk to him." When he returned a few moments later he restarted the tape.

"_Welcome to my game..._"

"We talked about it already," Cam spoke, "but let's put 'Tracey Trainor' on the board too. No harm in being thorough, right?

"Right," Jason concurred and Angela made the note.

"_Little Booth, tell your dad hello…_"

Booth shuddered when he heard Parker's 'Daddy' again but he remained silent.

"_48 hours, Agent, and the clock starts when I end this phone call._"

"How long?" Max asked shakily. "How long has it been?"

Jason glanced at his watch but before he could respond, Brennan and Angela both answered, "Two hours, five minutes."

"And counting," Hodgins added.

"We need a clock," Zack suggested, "like we had when Hodgins and Dr. Brennan were buried. A clock so we know exactly how much time we have left."

"I don't-I don't want a clock ticking down my son's—" Booth's voice broke and he shook his head. "You are right, Zack, we need a clock but, please, keep it away from me, ok?"

"Done," Hodgins said. "We'll put it in our lab, Z-man." Hodgins didn't notice Zack's quick flinch at his casual use of 'our lab'. Angela left 'clock' off the board but Jason let it pass as he again started the tape.

"_If you can decipher my rhyme and find us within the 48 hours, I will gladly return Little Booth to you unharmed..._"

Jason immediately tapped the pause key again. "Agent Booth, my question is insensitive, I know, but it needs to be asked. This Needling, what are the odds he keeps his word? First, how do we know he's not giving us a bogus clue? That when we figure it out, he's really going to be there? And second, are we sure he is actually going to willingly hand Parker to us? I need to know if we are dealing with a traditional hostage situation here."

It was a long time before Booth could speak and the silence was deafening. "He's never lied before," Booth finally said. "All of the clues were real; we just didn't always figure them out in time. He never lied before and I-I have to believe he's not going to start now. About any of it."

"He's never hurt a child before," Angela added softly. "That we know of, he's never hurt a child. I don't think he really _wants _to hurt Parker. It's Booth and Brennan he wants."

"I agree with Booth and Angela," Sweets stated. "From a psych perspective, Needling barely even sees Parker. Parker is a means to an end—a highly effective way to get everyone involved in the game. He _believes_ in the game. Lying would be a kind of cheating. I don't think he would cheat. He'd consider it beneath him."

"Alright, I'll buy that. We'll proceed as though he's telling us the gospel truth," Jason agreed, pushing play.

"_I must insist, if you want to see Parker again, you will refrain from calling me stupid…_"

"Booth's right," Sweets mumbled.

"Excuse me?" Jason asked. "Right about what?"

"Stupid, ignorant, idiot, worthless. That's his trigger. It may not have been his parents but someone said that to him. Someone made him believe it, intentionally or not." Sweets glanced at Booth. "If he calls back, when you have contact with him again, you can use that against him. Carefully," he warned, "very carefully but you can use that."

"Also, the person who made him feel those things? That's going to be your first victim," Sweets continued before anyone could respond. "This is why he needs the game. It's not enough anymore to just kill. He needs to beat someone, to prove his worth. He came back to DC, at great personal risk, because he believes Booth and Brennan are the only ones who have come close to beating him. Much like Howard Epps, he can't accept defeat so he's spent the last two years convincing himself that jail was only a time-out. In his mind, this is a continuation of the game he started two years ago and no one has won yet. He intends to win or to die because this game has to come to end."

"Go down 'in a blaze of glory,'" Booth guessed. Sweets looked slightly confused but Jason nodded in agreement. "I'm ok with that but he's not taking her with him."

"Mrs. Montenegro, did you get all of that?" Angela stepped back to survey her board before gesturing to Jason to begin.

"_I won't be returning to prison and she will not be returning to Washington…_"

It was Max's turn to shudder as the full meaning of Booth's 'blaze of glory' hit home. "Tempe," he whispered while the tape still rolled.

"_That shrink who wrote the book on you and Temperance would be very proud..._"

"He's read my book. My book about you and Dr. Brennan," Sweets breathed.

"Yeah, Sweets, congratulations. Now shut up," was Booth's reply.

"No, wait, seriously. I never thought…never considered… This gives him an advantage. Probably gives a lot of bad people an advantage," Sweets murmured. "I never considered that consequence when I finally agreed to publish it." Some of Sweets's pride in the book diminished in light of these revelations. "However you and Dr. Brennan feel about it, Booth, there is a lot of the two of you in that book. He'll know how you think, _why _you think. It's like giving the playbook to the other team."

Booth could see Sweets's growing distress so he kept his tone neutral. "I've read your book, Sweets, so I know what it says. Maybe he knows more about Bones and I now but maybe that's not all bad. He knows I was a sniper and won't hesitate to shoot to kill. He knows Bones won't be frightened or bullied into _anything_ she considers irrational or illogical. He knows we're a team. A really tough team. Bones and I, we're the Yankees, the Flyers, the Lakers _and_ the Colts. Knowing the plays ahead of time doesn't help much if the team executes them flawlessly."

When silence prevailed, Jason restarted the tape without comment while Cam stepped over and ran a quick hand over Sweets's knee. Angela dutifully noted '_The Heart of the Matter_' on the board.

"_Back where it started, my dearest departed, buried in an unmarked grave;  
Stephen and Brown, both born in this town, died for all lives to save;_"

"Wait!" Booth shouted. "Stephen! God, I'm an idiot. Needling's father is named Stephen. He's from…Ah, I think he's from North Carolina, somewhere. We should focus there. Maybe that's 'where it started.'"

Zack was already searching Needling's computer file. "Stephen J. Needling, born in Charlotte, North Carolina. Moved to Charlottesville, Virginia for college and law school and then to Washington, DC. He was an attorney in DC until 2008 when his only child was arrested and he moved to Pensacola, Florida."

"Has your search of 'Stephen and Brown' turned anything up?" Cam asked.

"Not enough and too much," Zack said in disappointment. "Stephen Hopper and Andrew Brown are Australian botanists who together named the orchid genus _Ericksonella_. Stephen Gentry and Clifford Brown are Chicago, Illinois based political scientists who wrote 'Modeling the American State Presidential Vote,' a paper about Illinois. Stephen St. Vincent Benet was an American poet who wrote _John Brown's Body_. Stephen Brown of Ireland wrote the controversial book _Postmodern Marketing_. There's another Stephen Brown who's a professor of finance at NYU-Stern. It goes on like this," Zack shrugged. "There are a lot of Stephens and Browns out there. I don't see how any of this is relevant yet but you said not to worry about relevance, so…"

"Ok," Jason nodded. "Let's focus on the father in North Carolina but you keep looking. You find anything within the _realm_ of relevance, you let us know. And put the poem guy up on the board, Ms. Montenegro. I'm going to guess our man likes a good poem."

"The 'died for all lives to save?' That's Christ," Booth said. "I don't know how it fits but Jesus Christ died to save all lives. If he's read Sweets's book, he knows I believe that. Maybe your book is helping, Sweets. He's giving too much away." Sweets's smile was grateful as Angela wrote 'Jesus Christ' on the board.

"_Set in September, how well I remember, the river shined brightest that day;  
And from a house, where I went to a mouse, so this game we could play._"

"Damnit," Booth said when the tape ended. "We still don't have much."

"We have more than you think, Agent Booth. Ah, yes, Mr. Nigel-Murray?" Jason asked when he noticed the intern's hand was raised.

"I'm not sure about relevancy," Nigel-Murray edged nervously away from Cam's raised hand, "but the part 'I went to a mouse…' _To a Mouse_ is a poem written by Robert Burns, containing the famous line 'The best laid schemes o' mice and men.'" Nigel-Murray shrugged and rushed to add, "You said Needling was likely to enjoy poetry and 'schemes' are akin to games…"

"That was extremely well done, Mr. Nigel-Murray," Cam beamed while Angela wrote 'Robert Burns: To a Mouse, poem' on the board.

"Ok, people, now the real work begins. Let's figure this out because we _are_ going to find Parker Booth."


	6. Then A God Am I

**Chapter 6: For If Knowledge is Power, Then a God Am I **

As he dragged Brennan and Parker into the cabin, a calm seemed to settle over Needling. Parker was crying openly now, despite Brennan's attempts to reassure the boy, but his noise no longer appeared to fluster Needling. This was the calm _after _the storm, as though the blow to Brennan's forearm had released his tension in a tidal wave and Needling was humming along with the ride. If anyone could see them, it would look like a farce: an attractive young man humming U2's _Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me_ while he serenely carried a screaming child and yanked an injured woman up the steps of a quaint log cabin. Brennan knew from experience that the man's satisfied composure was just as dangerous, maybe more than, the frantic rage.

When Needling unlocked the door and flipped on the lights, Brennan blinked rapidly against the sudden glare. Her arm was a fire burst of pain; slick, oily, raging bursts of pain. Trying to think over the agony, she searched their new surroundings. She could see that the cabin was simple, without any modern updates to the appliances or décor, but it was also scrupulously clean and prepared for occupancy.

"Ah, yes," Needling smiled as he glanced around the living area. "Just as I remembered it." He ran a hand lovingly along the wooden edge of a simple box window seat. "See this, Little Booth?" He hitched Parker more securely under his arm. "I helped make this when I was about your age." When Parker only cried harder and squeezed his eyes shut in response, Needling's arm tightened briefly until he smiled. "It's late, Little Booth, and it's making you cranky. Tomorrow I won't stand for anymore tantrums, you hear me? For now, both of you come with me." He tugged deliberately on Brennan's injured arm and was gratified by her stumbling moan.

Trying her best to support the arm with her uninjured one, Brennan followed obediently along and tried to will away the pain fogging her brain. "What—" she shook her head against another burst of flames. "What is this place?"

As though he couldn't avoid another touch, Needling released Brennan's arm and scraped the barrel of his gun along the cabin's hallway walls. "This place," he sighed, "was a weekend getaway belonging to the family of a very dear young woman." The way his voice changed, somehow smoothing and tightening at the same time, sent a shiver down Brennan's back. "I so cherish those memories. That's why I bought the place, and hired a property manager to care for it during my…unfortunate absence." He shook off the fear that snaked inside every time he remembered prison. "As a child she would often bring me here, teaching me to camp and fish and raft. Teaching me to understand and respect nature, even if I did always prefer the city. She even tried to teach me to hunt, though I'm afraid I was never as good as she hoped in that activity. I was only successful when the prey was close by. Such a disappointment to her," he shook his head in what may have been shame before shrugging it off like a sullen teenager. "Perhaps if she had allowed me to try her pistol instead of the shotgun as I requested. I tried to tell her I could do better with something smaller, more compact. Something that emphasized skill over physicality. Well," he continued with a smile so sinister Brennan realized in a rush he was discussing the first woman he killed. "Eventually, of course, she saw that I was correct all along."

He stopped abruptly so that Brennan was forced to step aside to avoid crashing into him. Her momentum, coupled with her inability to use one of her arms to stabilize herself, sent her tumbling over an old, attached floor-to-wall furnace. "Oh, Temperance, have you hurt yourself? I mean, besides the arm," he laughed. "Don't worry, dear, as much as I love this place, it won't be our home for long. We will be on the road before you can get too annoyed with eccentricities like narrow hallways and old furnaces. You and I are headed for greener pastures."

"You and I and Parker?"

"No, no, no. Little Booth will not be with us when we go to New York City. Oh," he turned towards Brennan who had pulled herself back up against the wall. "Opps. Did I tell too much? Well, no matter. Now you can appropriately prepare yourself. Bright lights, big city, Temperance. That's where you and I are headed. Lots of places to hide, lots of people to kill. I think I'm ready for the grand stage, don't you? I'm taking you with me, Temperance. Lucky," he laughed in delight, all of his earlier angst lost in the endorphins of excised rage. Pushing open a door, he turned Parker in his arms and showed him the small bathroom. "Look, Little Booth, it's your favorite room! I want you to stay here tonight so that we don't have any more of your _accidents_." Parker shook his head frantically, kicking against Needling's restraining arm.

"Uh, uh, uh, young man. No kicking. You want the bathroom, I give you the bathroom. Trust me, it's a very good place for little boys who need to learn their manners."

"No," Parker wailed. "Bones!"

"Parker, hush! I'm right behind you." At Brennan's shout Parker stopped struggling.

"Not so fast, Temperance," Needling turned to block Brennan's entrance. "I will, of course, allow you a few moments of privacy while you…avoid embarrassing yourself. However, we have so little time to talk before the next inning of my game must begin. I would relish the opportunity to pick your brain without," he dropped Parker unceremoniously to the floor, "any further interruptions."

"I want to stay with Bones!" Parker scrambled up to wrap his arms around Brennan's legs.

"I want to go the bathroom. I want my Daddy," Needling mimicked Parker, "I want to stay with Bones. I told you, Little Booth, this is _my _game and _I_ don't care what you want. Five minutes Temperance," he pointed with his gun as he backed out the room. "I'll be outside the door."

"Bones," Parker sniffled, still coiled around her knees. Brennan turned on the faucet before kneeling next to Parker to wrap him in a one-armed embrace. When he leaned against her injured arm she held her breath briefly before whispering through the pain.

"Listen to me, Parker. I will find a way to be close to you. I will think of something. You just keep quiet and trust me."

"He-he hurt you, Bones. I made him mad and he hurt you. I-I-I'm s-sorry."

"Parker," she pulled back to cup his cheek. "I'll be fine, Parker. Bones break all the time. You can trust me. I know something about bones, right?" She smiled when he nodded solemnly and continued to whisper quickly. "I'll be fine. But Needling, he hates noise. He can't think when there is too much noise. So we need to be _really_ quiet. Here," she began rummaging through the bathroom's cabinet, handing him two towels. "I want you to climb in the tub. Get in the tub and lay down. You can cover up with this towel and use the other one as a pillow."

"I'm wet," Parker mumbled, ducking his head to hide the tears clinging to his lashes.

"I know. It's ok. You have to stay dressed, Parker. You have to stay ready. Now lie down and try to get some sleep and believe me when I tell you I will be close by the entire time."

"Ok," Parker agreed, scrambling into the tub when Needling knocked on the door.

"Times up, Temperance."

"One more minute," she replied, quickly taking care of her own personal business before kneeling down to Parker once more. "Remember, if you get scared and have to cry, you've got to do it really quietly. And if you hear me at the door, you need to do exactly what I say. Exactly."

"Temperance, I'm coming in," Needling warned just as he entered. "Say goodnight to your Bones, Little Booth."

"Try to sleep Parks," Brennan said and started to step away. Parker shocked her into stillness when he leaned forward to kiss her softly on the arm cradled against her chest.

"Goodnight Bones."

Undone, Brennan simply nodded briskly as Needling shoved her out the door.

"Very touching, _Bones_." Needling aimed for a sarcastic tone but wound up closer to envious. "I never pegged you for sweet, but that was quite sweet. Now, this clever addition," he fingered the Master Lock on the outside of the bathroom door, "I hated this as a child. Hated it. But," he set the lock with click, "I'll admit, it has come in rather handy later in life."

When Brennan remained silent, Needling turned to frown at her. "Temperance? I just implied that I was locked in a bathroom as a child. You don't have any questions? Don't want to use this opportunity to delve into my past, solve my mystery?"

Silence.

"Interesting. I guess you really don't buy into all that psychological, poor-pitiful-childhood crap, huh? I find your lack of interest rather…compelling. Tremendously arrogant, but compelling. So, Temperance, what shall we talk about instead? Would you like to know about my plans for the next 40-plus hours? I would love to hear your opinion on how my game is going thus far."

More silence.

"Temperance. Dr. Brennan," he said and nudged her lightly with his gun. "I expect you to answer me, Dr. Brennan. Should we discuss our imminent plans or our long-term travels?"

Brennan turned calmly to face the gun Needling had raised to emphasize his demand. "I want Parker with me. You want me to talk. This is what smart people refer to as an impasse."

"You-you-you—" Needling shook his head in disbelief. "You are refusing to talk to me until I bring Little Booth to you? You realize, of course, that _I_ have the gun, correct? How about I get Little Booth for you, like you want, and I introduce him to my gun, one bullet at a time?"

Brennan swallowed once before resolving to call his bluff. "You won't cheat at your own game, Greg. You can't shoot Parker before the 48 hours is up because you don't cheat. Not to mention, you don't kill children. Never have and you probably aren't ready to go there just yet, especially with a boy. And we both know, if that child is injured, you will have no chance to speak to me ever again."

Needling's gun shook hard once in his hand before he suddenly began to laugh. "Temperance, I'll say it again. You are compelling. Now, it's late—we both need sleep. I am certain you will rethink this foolish standoff by morning. But," he drew a pair of police-issue handcuffs out of a thigh pocket, "if you are determined to sacrifice a comfortable spot on the couch, I want you to remember my generosity in the morning." Wrapping his hand around her broken arm, he insured her cooperation with a brief flex of his fingers. He tripped her to the ground, dragged her undamaged arm against the furnace, clamped the cuffs around her wrist, and then secured her to the metal rungs of the furnace. "You'll see I've allowed you to be close to Little Booth," he whispered, caressing her face with his gun before nodding towards the bathroom door directly across the hall. "You should fall asleep considering ways to thank me." He rose and banged a fist to Parker's door, laughing when he heard Parker's startled yelp. "Quiet now, Temperance, please. I do need my rest." He plunged the hallway into darkness and walked away.

Brennan waited quietly, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dark and inspecting the furnace and cuffs for a way to break out of the confinement. When Needling's movements in preparation for bed ceased and the cabin stilled, Brennan could hear Parker's desperate attempts to stifle his broken cries. Searching the hallway for anything that could be used to provide support for her broken arm, she gave up and stretched as close to the door as she could manage, using her head to knock lightly against the door.

"Parker," she spoke softly and knew he heard her as she listened to him crawl out of the tub towards the door. "Shh," she warned. "Stay quiet. I just wanted you know that I am here. I'm right outside the door, Parker. You—" she shuddered out a breath and leaned her head against the wall, "you are not alone."

"Thank you," came Parker's low reply. When he finally fell silent Brennan couldn't bring herself to tell him to get back in the tub. Thinking he had fallen asleep against the door, she began to move back to where her outstretched arm was locked to the furnace but she stopped when she heard Parker's shaky whisper.

"B-Bones?"

"Yes?"

"Will you—I didn't say my prayers. Will you say my prayers with me?"

"I don't…I don't believe in—" She shook her head. "I don't know how to say prayers, Parker."

"I can teach you," he whispered back, rushing ahead before Brennan could reply. "You have to say the Sign of the Cross first." Brennan could hear his practiced movements against the door as his solemn voice followed along '_In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen._' "Next," he continued, "you just tell God what you need. Not what you want," he instructed, "'cause dad says 'wants are for moms and dads and Santa Claus. God is for needs.' So you tell God what you need and you gotta make sure you say 'Please' and 'Thank you.' Like this:

Dear God,  
Please help my daddy to find me and Bones and help him catch the bad guy before he hurts any more ladies.  
Please make my mommy safe—" his voice broke on a quiet sob—"because I think the bad guy maybe hurt her.  
Thank you, God, for making Bones so smart 'cause she found me real quick and she won't leave me alone. Ever."

He was silent for so long that Brennan thought he was done but before she could speak he added, "Oh and please make Bones's arm feel better where he hurt her. Amen." When Bones didn't respond he whispered, "You say 'Amen' now, Bones."

"Umm," she shrugged and said, "The end." Parker was apparently satisfied because all he said was, 'Your turn.'

After a brief pause, Brennan decided it couldn't hurt to voice her needs aloud. "I need to find a way to get you safely back to your dad. To get you to your dad." _For both of you,_ she thought. "Ah… Please. And thank you."

* * *

"I am running searches to connect Needling, Stephen and Gregory, to Charlotte and to the 'Brown' in the clue," Zack announced.

"According to interviews Stephen gave to the police after his son's arrest, he and Needling's mother were legally committed throughout the boy's life but rarely lived as a married couple." Sweets spoke as he flipped through a paper file. "Both engaged in numerous extramarital affairs and, as a practicing attorney and a general surgeon, both were dedicated to their time-consuming careers. Stephen admitted he and his wife should never have had a child, as neither had the time or inclination to raise their son. He was left primarily in the care of babysitters until he was a teenager, at which point he was sent to Choate Rosemary Hall boarding school in Connecticut and, essentially, forgotten. As Booth said, they might not have been evil parents, but they were absent ones."

"Absentee parents," Sweets continued, "cause significant damage to their children. Irreparable damage. But still," he shook his head, "the pathology doesn't fit. The quest for attention, for approval, demonstrated by his need to inform, to involve the police, that fits. But the intense self-doubt, the fear, the need to have the women with him for several days before he kills them, the fact that he shoots them several times, in several places, before finally killing them. All of that is more commonly indicative of a history of intense physical and emotional abuse."

"Look, Sweets, I don't mean to channel Bones's anti-psychology bit but some people are just fucked. You can't explain it, you can't solve it. They are just fucked."

"Evil," Angela nodded. "There is evil in the world. I agree with that."

"So do I," Sweets replied. "I also believe evil has a root somewhere. I have to believe that."

"Excuse me," Zack interrupted. "I have been in what my new friends call the clink for a while so maybe things have changed. Does Dr. Brennan care about what people _believe_ now? Because we used to focus on the facts, the things we _know_."

Everyone stared at Zack in silence before Cam laughed lightly. "No, Dr. Addy, things haven't changed. Dr. Brennan would be grateful you are here to remind us. _I'm _grateful," she squeezed Zack's shoulder before addressing the rest of the group. "We stick to what we know, or what we can reasonably hypothesize. Tell me what we know."

"We know that the only Stephen we are aware of who is connected to Needling is his father. We know that his father was born in Charlotte, North Carolina. I've run several focused searches and I can't find anything that connects Stephen Needling to a 'Brown' born in Charlotte, North Carolina. I don't know what we can hypothesize from that information, Dr. Sarayon," Zack frowned at Cam.

Jason stepped into the room at that moment and spoke, "The FBI has sent local PD to the house where Needling—Stephen—," he clarified, "was born. They are searching the area and asking questions, trying to find people who remember Stephen; people who met Gregory on a rare visit with his grandparents. Maybe we will know more soon," he nodded at Zack. "They are asking questions."

"I want to go," Booth said, rising. "I want to go to North Carolina. The locals," he glanced at Jason, "no offense but the Charlotte-fucking-PD doesn't know how to find its ass, much less a serial killer who is five steps ahead of them. If he's there, if my son is there, I want to go. I'm going."

"Seeley—" Cam tried to stop him but he brushed past her restraining arm.

"Move, Camille."

"Booth." It was Max who stepped in front of him, stopping him with a clothesline snag across the chest. When Booth was trapped against a wall Max spoke calmly. "You aren't helping anything with this. You want to go. You want to run as fast as you can in their direction. I get that." He roughly slammed Booth back when he tried to move. "_I get that_. He has my baby, too. My baby." Booth stopped struggling. "Do you really think, _really _think, a man like me wants to sit here? Sit here while he has my baby? I'm going crazy in this fucking lab. But," he continued when Booth turned to stare, "Tempe, she trusts these people. She trusts you. She trusts you to wait, to be patient, to act when the time is right. She trusts you _not _to run 400 miles away from this lab on what, right now, is nothing more than a hunch. I trust Tempe and so do you. So we wait. We wait until these people give us something they know, something they are certain about. Then we find this fucker and we kick his ass."

"Agent Booth," Jason stepped forward, "we've got something. I need you both to come back to Dr. Brennan's office."

The men turned back to follow Jason. As he passed Cam, Booth stopped to cup a hand under her elbow and mouthed 'Sorry.' She only shook her head and patted his arm as they walked.

"Officer Paddox," Jason nodded at one of his men, "what have you got for us?"

"Sir, we received a hit on the Amber Alert."

"Where?" Booth lurched towards the officer. "When?"

"Let the man talk, Agent," Jason held up a hand.

"A cashier at a Shell gas station in Southern Pennsylvania saw the Amber Alert on the evening news."

"Pennsylvania?" Booth frowned.

"He believes he saw Brennan and Parker in the back seat of a car. Apparently he's a comic book buff and he noticed the driver's shirt in the pump camera. A purple question mark in the style of the Riddler from Batman." He nodded at the collective gasp that shimmered through the room. "The news ran the Amber Alert with a recap of Needling, called him the Riddler. It got the guy's attention and he recognized the pictures we ran. Said Needling was wearing a leather jacket and jeans, shaggy brown hair, brown eyes, clean shaven. Older than the picture we ran, but it sounds like it's our guy.

"Pennsylvania?" Booth repeated.

"Wilmington, Pennsylvania."

"How do we know—how can we be sure?" Max asked. "I mean, this sounds good but so does North Carolina. Pennsylvania? It doesn't make any sense."

"The police in Wilmington are at the gas station. They're going to talk to the guy, see if they can pull the pump pictures and send us an e-mail. But Captain," he glanced at Jason, "he gave us the car. Silver BMW."

"Ok, people, listen up. Listen," he shouted over the crowd's low roar. "Let's go back to our board. Read the board with Pennsylvania in mind. North Carolina isn't going anywhere right now, Agent Booth. We need to keep in mind that Pennsylvania, Wilmington, could be part of the journey, not the destination. But it's all we've got so, while we wait for an e-mail, we'll go back to our board with Pennsylvania. Dr. Addy, back to your computer. Run your searches. Whatever you ran before, run again. I want to know if Needling ever stepped foot in fucking Pennsylvania."

"Yes, sir," Zack nodded.

"Cam, I want you coordinating the information that is flying around. I've got cops in Charlotte and Wilmington, not to mention my guys and the FBI. I don't want a damn thing, not one thing, getting missed."

"Got it. I'll be in my office if you need…" The rest of her sentence was cut off as she turned the corner out the door.

"The rest of you, on the board. Booth, can you think of anything, _anything_, from this guy's past that is connected to Pennsylvania?"

"I-I, no. Nothing. L-let me think."

"Captain!"

"What, Paddox?"

"We got the e-mail, sir. I can…excuse me," he moved Angela off the computer where she was trying to create a facial reconstruction of Needling based on the new information provided by Paddox's report. "Sorry. I can pull it up on the computer."

"Wait," Angela stopped him and began to type. "Give me the information and I'll pull it up on the projection screen."

"Son of a bitch," Booth whispered when the picture appeared. "That's Parker." Booth stepped to the screen and ran a shaky hand down the likeness of his son cuddled against Brennan's chest. "That's my boy. That's my son, and," he laid a hand on the image of Brennan's cheek while Angela stepped behind him and cupped his shoulders, "that's my Bones."

* * *

Brennan was awoken by the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing. "Umm, ah, ouch," she moaned when her injured arm fell limply to her side.

"Bones? Bones are you out there?"

Brennan tried to shake the fog out of her brain and whispered back, "Yes, Parker, I'm right here. Right here."

"And here I am," Needling smiled brightly. "One big happy family, yes? Good morning, Little Booth," he said to the door. When Parker didn't respond he knocked on the door with his gun. "I said, 'Good morning!'"

"Morning," Parker mumbled.

"Hmm, well," Needling shrugged. "Must not be a morning person. And you, Temperance, how did you sleep?"

When she didn't respond he kicked her, hard, in the side of her rib cage with stiff hiking boots. "I told you it would be unwise to continue this silly code of silence. Now, Temperance, how did you sleep?"

Doing her best to avoid vomiting, Brennan managed to look up into Needling's placid gaze. "I want the boy," she said breathlessly, "but I'm willing to make a deal."

"A deal? _You_ are willing to make a deal with _me_? While I stand here holding a gun and you sit there broken and battered and chained? Oh Temperance I do admire your audacity. So, yes, by all means, we'll play Let's Make a Deal. What will you offer me?"

"You let me have the boy. Let him sit with me, quietly, and I will talk to you. I will tell you everything you want to know, answer every question. How we caught you, how we caught Howard Epps, how we caught anyone you can think of. I can give you the keys to the kingdom, Gregory." She saw interest light in his eyes and pressed her advantage. "Men like you, brains like yours, they crave knowledge. I've already told you, I'm the best. I'm the smartest person on my team. I can give you my knowledge. Think of all you can accomplish if you know what I know. And all you have to do is let the boy sit on my lap." She saw his eyes close on a sigh of ecstasy and all she thought was, '_Well, crap, maybe there's something to Sweet's pseudo-science after all._' "You don't care about the boy, Greg, but you do care about the things I know. You want me to talk, to tell you what the bones of your victims told me, you give me the boy."

"How do I know you won't lie?"

"Because you are too smart for that, at least. You would see through my lies," she, well, lied, smiling to herself when she saw his automatic acceptance. "Plus, like you, I don't cheat."

She held her breath waiting for a response and was uncertain what to think when Needling stomped away. She was on the verge of calling out to him, prepared to try again, when he suddenly stopped.

"I have an errand to run," he spoke without turning around. "I will be back in thirty minutes or less. Since I myself have been chained to that very furnace, I am confident you will be here when I return. And when I return, Temperance, we will have a deal. You will give me everything." Brennan closed her eyes when she heard the door slam behind him.

She curled her aching body into a ball, desperate for a moment to calm the smoldering in her ribs.

"Bones? Bones is he gone?"

"He's gone Parker but you need to keep your voice to a whisper, just in case."

"Did he hurt you again, Bones? It sounded like he hurt you."

"He—I'm fine, Parker."

"Maybe he will get in a wreck and crash into a tree and his car will catch on fire and then he will die and never come back."

"Maybe," Brennan agreed. "Until that happy event, I need you to do something for me. Can you do what I tell you?"

"Yes, I can Bones. What?" She could tell he was excited by the prospect of an assignment, a distraction.

"First, are there any magazines? In the bathroom, Parker, are there any magazines?"

"Yeah! Here!" Brennan smiled, picturing Parker waving them in front of the door. "I looked at one last night 'cause I woke up and I got scared but…" He trailed off.

"But, what, Parks?"

"There…There were naked ladies in it and I stopped reading it as soon as I saw them. I swear it!"

Brennan couldn't help it, she began to laugh. When she imagined telling Booth his son spent his captivity flipping through _Playboys_, she only laughed harder.

"Bones?" Parker's voice trembled between worry and a giggle.

"It's ok, Parker. I want you to slide two magazines under the door, ok?" She laughed harder when two old _Victoria Secret_ magazines slid out. "Good Parker. Now look in the cabinets and drawers. I need string or tape or something that can hold these magazines like a tube."

"Umm…" Parker looked around frantically before dropping his head in shame. He brightened when he saw his shoes. Dropping to untie his sneakers, he said excitedly, "My shoelaces, Bones! I have my shoelaces."

"No, wait! That's a good idea, Parks, but you need to keep your shoes tied tight. In case we have to run, Parker, you need your shoes."

"Oh, ok," he said, disappointed.

"Just look around, Parker, and tell me what you see."

Parker began rummaging nosily. "Umm. There are towels and washcloths and toilet paper and…umm…pills and band aids and…band aids! Band aids are like tape, right, Bones?"

"Parker Booth, that is very smart. Very smart. I need you to open the band aids, Parker, but don't take off the sticky covers, ok?"

"Ok, Bones, here's one." When all the band aids had been passed under the door, Brennan pulled her body along the furnace so that she was near her cuffed wrist.

"Parker, what I'm about to do is going to hurt and I might scream but I'm fine, you hear me? I'm ok. While I do this, I want you to drink some water from the sink. You need to drink water while you have a chance." When she heard the water running she forced her injured arm into a straight position, using her cuffed arm to pull the bone back as straight as possible. She tried, but she couldn't hold back the scream. She heard Parker whimper but he didn't talk and the water continued to run. Using her body and her cuffed arm, she wrapped the magazines tightly around her injured arm, curling them into a makeshift cast. With the band aids operating as tape, she fastened the magazines into place. When her arm was wrapped she leaned her head against the wall. The support provided by the magazines took tremendous pressure off her arm and she finally received some semblance of relief.

"Bones?"

"Still here, Parker."

"What next?"

"Do you have pockets?"

"What? Pockets?" Parker's tone was clearly confused.

"In your pants. Do you have pockets in your pants?"

"Umm, yeah, I do. Why? What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to write a note to your dad."

"A-a note?"

"That's right. Now, quiet down because I need to concentrate." Using the newfound mobility of her left hand, Brennan slowly withdrew the pen and paper from her boot. Trying to write with a broken left arm was complicated, at best, but she managed three letters of the Greek alphabet.

ΛΑΧ

Folding the note tightly, Brennan pushed it under the door. "Parker, I need you to put this in your back pocket. Put it in there as flat as possible and don't tell Needling, you hear me?"

"Why do I need to hold it, Bones? Why not you?"

"I don't have pockets, Parks. So you need to hold it for me and take good care of it until I can figure out how to get it to your dad, ok? It's only for your dad."

"Got it, Bones. Our secret."

"Good. He's going to let you sit with me, out of the bathroom, but if you talk, even _once_, he'll send you back here, Parker. So no talking at all. If you need something, you can use your finger, your nail, to try to write it on my leg. Think you can do that?"

"Maybe. I'll try."

"You do that. From here on out Parker you need to do exactly—"

"What about sign language?" He interrupted.

"What?"

"Sign language! I learned the alphabet in school. Do you know it?"

"I-I do," Brennan answered, flustered.

"I can do the sign language letters in your hand," he announced proudly. "My teacher told us about a little girl who learned to do that and she was deaf _and _blind! I can do that."

"That's…brilliant Parker. That's actually brilliant. We'll do that, both of us, when we can. We will have to be very careful to make sure he doesn't see what we are doing, right? You have to do _exactly_ what I say from here on out? No questions, just do."

"Like Space Invaders?"

"What?"

"Space Invaders. It's a game I play with dad. We practice getting away from aliens. Dad is the Captain and I am his First Lieutenant. First Lieutenant has to do everything the Captain tells him to help fight the aliens. I can pretend we are playing Space Invaders."

_Thank you, Booth, for your paranoia and willingness to lie to your son. _"Yes, good, that's good. We'll play Space Invaders. Starting now."

"Ok." When Brennan remained silent Parker spoke, "Umm, Bones? You are supposed to give me orders now. What do we do?"

"Now? Now we wait."


	7. Ready or Not

Whew, this is a long chapter. To be honest, it probably could be broken up into two chapters but I got caught up writing it and didn't want to stop. Plus, I made you wait a little longer than usual for the update (minus the 1 year wait, of course ) so an unusually long chapter is my apology. Hope you enjoy (and review)!

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Chapter 7: Ready or Not, Here We Come

Needling returned to the cabin carrying two brown paper bags on either hip, store-bought fresh flowers peeking out the top of one bag. Flush with plans and supplies, Needling beamed at Brennan's body braced against the wall, enjoying the way her knees were cradled against her body, her head buried between them. "Teemmmprraaancee," he greeted her in a sing-song voice. "My dear Temperance. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep."

Lifting her head, Brennan responded softly, "And miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep."

Needling's eyes lit with appreciation. "You know poetry, Temperance. Do you enjoy Mr. Frost?"

"I know about keeping promises. I enjoy keeping promises," she replied with a meaningful nod to the bathroom's lock.

Following her gaze, Needling nodded agreeably and dropped his bags on the kitchen counter. He stepped to the door and continued to turn words into song. "Oh Little Booth, wanna come out and play? Little Booth?"

When he unlocked and opened the door Parker came rushing out, falling into Brennan's knees and wrapping his arms around her neck. Her automatic wince and small cry as his embraced crushed her injured arm startled Parker and he drew back quickly.

"Sorry Bones. I keep forgetting," he whispered in her ear with a cautious glance at Needling.

"Its fine, Parks." Trying to reassure him, she unfolded her knees and held out her arm, showing Parker that her forearm was unaffected by his unconscious affection. When only one half of his mouth raised in what might have been a smile, as though the other half wasn't sure what to do, Brennan curled the arm around him and, moving on instinct, squeezed him tightly to her chest in a hard hug.

Watching their interaction with interest, Needling noticed her arm's new improvised cast for the first time and in an instant his demeanor changed from easy amusement to apoplectic rage. "What!...How?..." he sputtered, reaching down in an attempt to wrench the magazines from around Brennan's arm.

Brennan lifted her legs so that Parker was shielded by her knees and managed to curl her body protectively around him, dodging Needling's grasp at the same time. When Needling knelt beside her and reached for the arm again, she lifted her face calmly to his. Her unruffled appearance caused Needling a moment's pause and she used the opportunity to speak carefully. "Do you know what can happen if a broken bone is never properly set, Greg? I promised to teach you what I know and I think we can all agree that I know bones. Consider this your first lesson."

She held the arm in question in front of him and braced for the possibility of more pain. He didn't touch her and she inspected the arm contemplatively in a circling motion as she continued, "Based on the distortion of the skin on my upper and lower forearm, I have a displaced closed fracture of both the radius and ulna bones. If this type of break is left unset and untreated it can lead to a multitude of complications. Should the exposed marrow escape and enter my blood stream it can cause cardiac arrest, pulmonary embolism and cerebrovascular accident." Brennan hoped the collection of medical terms would be enough to convince Needling and obscure the liberties she was taking with her diagnosis. "Other risks include ostomyalititis and compartment syndrome. Any number of these complications can lead to severe illness, impaired movement and judgment and, eventually, death. Do you really want me to die before you have a chance to kill me, Greg?" Brennan tightened her knees around Parker in reassurance when she felt the boy stiffen at her question. Hoping to appease Needling she added, "Next time, however, I will ask your permission before I borrow your supplies."

After a minute's consideration, the uncertain suspicion faded from Needling's eyes and Brennan could see she had mollified his anger enough. "There is so much you can teach me, Temperance. With what you can show me, I could keep my…_friends_ alive for days of pain. Weeks, maybe." He shivered in delight at the very prospect. "But," he added before Brennan could reply, "your impetuousness must be punished. I'm afraid Little Booth will have to return to his bathroom."

To his credit, Parker remained quiet but he turned his body more fully into Brennan's chest and clung, burying his face in her breast.

"Greg that was not our deal. Surely a man so adept at punishment can come up with something that doesn't violate the bargain you made. After all, you did seem to enjoy my last lesson."

Huffing out a sigh, Needling muttered 'Fine,' sounding more like a teenager forced into homework than a man being asked to choose an alternate method of retribution. Brennan struggled to maintain a cool appearance while she waited for his decision and didn't notice his raised fist until it was crashing into her face with a strength born of pure pleasure in the act. Despite Brennan's repeated warnings to stay quiet no matter what, Parker began to cry and begged Needling to stop hurting Bones. Brennan's pride urged her to remain stoically unaffected but she knew Needling craved her pain and, honestly, the ache was throbbing against her temple. Giving in to Needling's need as much as the hurt, Brennan cupped her cheek against her palm and allowed herself one broken sob. She was rewarded for her tears when she heard Needling's childish giggle.

Cracking his knuckles and briefly shaking out his fist, Needling grinned, "There. I feel better. So, tell me Little Booth, do you want to stay with Temperance as badly as she wants you?"

Still clinging to Brennan's chest, Parker nodded mutely. Brennan prayed to a God she didn't believe in that Needling wouldn't test the child's resolve the same way he had just tested hers.

"Hmm," Needling responded, leaning back to rest on his haunches. "As a child, I was given special privileges when I could demonstrate wisdom and knowledge. Of course, I was punished severely when I proved to be stupid and ignorant." He emphasized the word 'stupid' with a menacing grimace. "'Want food in your tummy, don't be a dummy,' she used to tell me. How about it, Little Booth? Do you want to stay with your beloved Bones enough to solve my riddle?"

Finally turning to face Needling, Parker nodded bravely. Brennan could feel fear shivering through his body but she closed her eyes in nearly maternal pride when she saw the boy stare at his captor with unblinking, if foolish, courage.

"Very well, here you go. What is the beginning of eternity, the end of time and space, the beginning of every end and the end of every race?"

Parker continued to stare at Needling, now wide-eyed with confusion, for a long moment before his shoulders slumped and his head dropped to his lap in shame and disappointment.

_It's now or never_, Brennan thought and cautiously curled her fist against Parker's knee. She knew the instant Parker recognized her silent signal because his shoulders straightened in hesitant understanding.

"Umm, 'E'," he answered tentatively, using the inflection typically reserved for a question instead of an answer.

Clearly taken aback, Needling's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He stared between Parker and Brennan as though he could read their minds and discover how they had bested his clever trick. Unable to see how the pair could have cheated as they remained curled in a silent and still embrace, Needling shook his head in disbelief. "Remarkable, Little Booth. I am…surprised. Shocked, actually."

It was Parker's turn to think quickly and Brennan's turn for shock when Parker shyly lied, "Bones taught me that one time. I just needed to remember it."

Once Parker had provided an excuse for his unexpected intelligence, Needling's pride was appeased and Brennan guessed he was proud to hear that he and she had something in common. "Well, Little Booth, that's _almost_ cheating but, as Temperance would undoubtedly tell me, a deal is a deal. You have just bought yourself some temporary freedom. Well done, young man." Rising, he didn't speak again until he was in the kitchen, just outside of their view. Brennan took a moment to nuzzle her sore cheek against Parker's soft curls, a gesture that comforted her as much as the child.

"I'm starving," Needling stated, rounding the corner of the counter with a box of donuts and a quart of chocolate milk in his hands.

Curious about where he had gone, Brennan raised her eyebrows at the box. "You left to go to Dunkin' Donuts? Apparently my lesson on how not to get caught should begin with cutting out frivolous errands."

"Dear Temperance, I evaded the police quite well on my own for years, thank you very much. There's no need for your pompous referrals to teaching me _lessons_. But, you do sound almost concerned about my welfare, which I appreciate, even if I did return unscathed. So I'll tell you: I would never call donuts frivolous but," he waved his cell phone tauntingly, "my errand was filled with purpose. I am now assured the local police department will not be making any sudden moves without my knowledge. I do so love my game of cat and mouse and really my errand was just one of several clever traps I've set. Oh, dear me, I must apologize for my poor manners. You distracted me with your accusations of frivolity. Are you two hungry?"

Bones glanced at Parker whose gaze implored her to respond so she answered, "We would appreciate something to eat, yes."

"So, are you hungry?" Needling repeated.

"Yes."

"Mmm," he smiled around a large bite of donut, "pity there's nothing for you then." Relaxing comfortably on the couch as he ate, Needling began to speak as though he was conversing with friends. "Temperance, you told my jury that Casey James's bones _told _you who I was. Explain, please. I'm afraid I missed most of your testimony after my repeated threats to one day cause you pain got me excused from the courtroom that day. I guess our foolish judge didn't believe me. But never mind my reminiscing. Please, explain what lovely little Julie's bones said to you."

Shifting Parker more comfortably in her embrace, Brennan debated how much to give him. "The average criminal is aware that their guns contain a serial number linked to a variety of identifying information. However, in reaction to a piece of California legislation, several ammunition manufacturers have adopted a policy of bullet serialization with a microlaser. This is typically only useful when the bullets remain near, or inside, the body. You, of course, were aware enough to remove all bullets."

"Of course," he agreed.

"Now, because most bullets are shot to kill," she continued, "they travel primarily through flesh, only incidentally touching bone. But you, you like your victims to suffer before they expire. To that aim, you shot Casey James in her lower leg, at close range, so that the bullet travelled clearly through her femur bone. The femur is the body's thickest bone, a fact which allowed it to slow the bullet enough that the metal scraped roughly against the bone."

"As it travelled through, the bullet left a tracing of its serial number on Casey's bone. Once my team successfully pulled the number from the bone, we knew the date, location, and method of purchase. Atlantic Guns was well outside your hunting and burial grounds. Armed with our new information, the FBI was able to question a new set of people and suddenly we had the story of a young man who had been coming to the store since he was a junior hunter. A man who, since childhood, loved to share a good riddle, often making a game out of testing the clerk. But Greg, they said, couldn't be the Riddler they were talking about on the news. Greg Needling, the name they gave us, was friendly and funny and polite. A college student for God's sake, they said. Fortunately," Brennan shrugged, "science doesn't care what a good guy your friends think you are."

"Interesting," Needling said thoughtfully. "Fascinating, really." He fished a bullet out of his pocket and inspected it carefully, running a finger gently across the tiny engraving. "Fascinating. Temperance, dear, I believe this may be the beginning of a beautiful partnership."

* * *

When Booth accidentally glanced at a clock affixed to the museum's wall, his first thought was a quick calculation of the time remaining to save his son: less than 33 hours. But as he wearily watched the flurry of activity scurrying through the lab, Booth realized with a jolt that it was 10:30 on _Saturday _morning. These people had been searching for his son for over fifteen hours and, to the best of his knowledge, not one of them had slept since sometime on Friday morning.

Overwhelmed with gratitude, even as terror continued to swirl greasy waves of nausea in his gut, Booth closed his eyes in silent prayer. He prayed for his son's safety, for Bones's wisdom, for his team's fortitude. He prayed for the courage to continue to put one foot in front of the other. Most importantly, he thanked God for surrounding him with the kind of people who would work through the night, as many nights as was asked of them, to bring his son and partner back home.

Hodgins was headed to Cam's office when he noticed Booth sitting on the Institute's couch, his eyes closed and his head hanging limply between his shoulders. Hodgins hesitated before advancing, unsure what he could say. He considered calling on Sweets for back up but before he could Booth felt his hovering and slowly lifted grief-stricken eyes to meet Hodgins's. When Booth's shoulders moved in what might have been a shrug, as though silently begging Hodgins to tell him what to do next, Hodgins moved past his indecision and sat next to Booth.

"Booth, I…" Hodgins cleared his throat and tried again, this time resolving to say exactly what he was thinking. "Shit, man, this is fucked up."

Booth couldn't help it—he laughed in agreement. "That it is."

"I, ah, I went by George Washington hospital this morning. I wanted to get Rebecca's lab results, find out what the doctors could tell us about her. She's fine," he added quickly. "Needling knocked her out with a blow to the head and a pretty heavy dose of Serax. It's pretty easy to get but we are trying to track that angle anyway." He lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "You never know what you'll find, right? Anyway, the docs, they said Rebecca opened her eyes a few times and was responding well to treatment. She's still pretty out of it so they haven't told her about Parker. She doesn't remember anything from that day but the doctors said that might not last. I just thought you would want to know that she's fine."

Booth scrubbed both hands over his face. "Yeah, it helps. Thanks, Hodgins. Wait," he stopped Hodgins's next statement, "the doctors, they told you all that? What about confidentiality?"

"Yeah, well, her doctor is in his second year of the Hodgins Grant Fellowship Program so…"

"Huh. Nice."

"It can be. Listen, that Drew dude, he was at the hospital. He was pretty worked up about Rebecca and Parker. He doesn't have a fellowship program so they doctors wouldn't tell him much. I told him what I could find out about Rebecca and I…I told him Dr. B was with Parker and that we had heard Parker's voice on the phone call. I hope you don't mind that I told him. He-he was pretty worked up," Hodgins repeated.

"No, it's good you told him. I…I know he cares about Parker. I think he's a good guy. Son of a bitch," Booth dropped his head against the sofa's back with a thump.

Understanding, Hodgins nodded. "It's a bitch, huh? Even now, it blows thinking about some 'good guy' who's worried about your kid."

"Yeah," Booth sighed. "Yeah, it blows. God, Hodgins, my kid's in real, serious danger and some fucked-up part of me wants to go to that hospital and tell that jackass that he's my kid. _My _kid. I want to make my point with my fists to his face. What kind of man does that make me?"

"Human," Hodgins responded simply. "Look, are you headed to the hospital right now? No. You're a human being who would rather think about pummeling the dip shit who takes his son to the zoo than to think about your little boy in danger. Cut yourself some damn slack."

"He must be so scared, Jack." Booth's whisper trembled in the air. "When he was about four or so he started to believe that there were aliens in his room. I had made up this stupid game where we would fight aliens together."

"Space Invaders," Hodgins smiled. "Umm, Parker and I, we maybe have played it in the lab once or twice. I really like to be the Captain."

"Ha. Well, I guess I got a little too descriptive one day because suddenly he's waking me up to tell me that green aliens with big heads and little bodies are hiding in his closet. He's standing there in his Harry Potter pajamas and he's crying, these little sniffling sobs. I keep hearing those sniffling sobs he makes when he's scared. And I think about how he likes to be held, really tightly, when he's crying like that. Bones, she's, God, she's risking her life to save my son but," he lifted drenched eyes to Hodgins, "does she know to hold my boy really tight when he cries?"

"I think you are underestimating Dr. Brennan. I think she may surprise you," Hodgins replied after a long pause. "She's been a scared kid before, remember? That picture, from the gas station? Parker isn't just curled up against her. He's curled _into _her, Booth, and her arms are wrapped around him. She might not be your first choice as a babysitter under normal circumstances but in something like this, she's the best there is. I think she may surprise you."

Booth realized in a rush that Hodgins was right, he was underestimating Bones. In her own way, Bones had long been a source of comfort for him. She was wise, and kind, and brave, and beneath her shield of science beat an empathetic and compassionate heart.

"You know, Hodgins, you're probably right. She'll hold my boy because he'll tell her, show her, that he needs it and Bones, she does what needs to be done. That's about the best you can ask for in a babysitter, whatever the circumstances. She…Babysitter." Booth whispered the word so quietly, Hodgins was about to ask him to repeat it but before he could formulate a sound Booth was up and sprinting towards Brennan's office.

Booth ran so fast, he couldn't stop himself from crashing into Nigel-Murray as he lurched into Brennan's office.

"Seeley, what—" Cam began.

"Phyllus, Camille. Where's Lieutenant Phyllus?"

"Ah…"

"He was on a golf trip in Blacksburg, Virginia with a group of retired cops, Agent Booth. We got word to him on the course, filled him in about Needling, and he didn't hesitate to get in the car. He should be here soon. What've you got?" Jason asked.

Stepping to the board where Needling's clue was written in full, Booth smacked the board beneath the word 'river.' "Needling's babysitter… The girl who kept Needling when he was a child drowned in a river when he was, I don't know, 17 or 18. I think she was on a camping trip or something. In Pennsylvania."

Everyone stared at Booth. Finally Jason asked, "Where, Agent Booth?" at the same time Zack asked, "What was her name?"

"I…I don't know," Booth admitted. "That's why we need Phyllus. Because I don't fucking know."

"Ok, Agent Booth, start at the beginning."

"Ok. Ok. I told you Needling's parents weren't around much when he was a kid, right? He was basically raised by babysitters. Several of them but there was one young girl in particular. She lived in their neighborhood, I think. I remember that she drowned while he was away at school. Maybe I'm projecting but I think it was in Pennsylvania. Where she died," he clarified, "I think it was Pennsylvania."

Jason turned to Sweets who had spent the night pouring over Needling's psychological results. "Is there anything in the file?"

"Umm," Sweets flipped pages frantically. "Yeah, ok, here, Needling mentions how sad he was at the accidental death of his childhood crush, a babysitter. Says her death changed him, made him a different man. But there are no details, nothing specific about the girl."

"She died years, almost a decade, before Needling started killing women. We knew about her, looked into a little, but it was one of those angles that never panned out, except to help mess with Needling's head. It's not in the report because there was nothing there. She died a decade before he started killing."

"A decade before Casey James was killed," Sweets pointed out. "We don't know when he started killing."

"Oh, God…," Booth breathed.

"Seeley, the girl's body, did they find it? Did they find her in the river?"

"I don't _know_," Booth stressed to Cam. "I never knew much about her because she was a dead end. Goddamnit. Phyllus, he lived this case for a year before Bones and I came in. He kept journals, black books, recording anything, everything, he could gather on Needling. I think…I think he may have her in his notes."

"Hold on," Max interrupted. "You think this girl…you think she was his first? That's what you are saying, right?"

"I think that we should try to get Lieutenant Phyllus on the phone," Jason answered.

"Uh, Captain, before you make that call, I might have something." Hodgins waved his cell phone briefly before returning his attention to the e-mail he received. "We got a hit on the Serax Needling used on Rebecca. It's a controlled substance so sales are monitored pretty closely. A Vincent Braun purchased the drug, and a box of syringes the size found in Rebecca's car, eight days ago in Bethesda." No one noticed when Nigel-Murray's hand shot into the air.

"Do they have a description, Dr. Hodgins?" Jason asked.

"No, but Needling has used the alias 'Braun' before." Nigel-Murray's hand began to wave in the air as Hodgins answered.

"That's good, Dr. Hodgins. That's good work. Every piece is a part of the whole. Nice job. Now—" Whatever Jason was about to say was forgotten as he turned around and saw Camille's fact fanatic jumping up and down while his raised hand danced frantically in the air. "Uh, umm, yes, Mr. Nigel-Murray?" Jason felt like a fifth grade school teacher.

"Braun, B-R-A-U-N," he spelled, looking to Hodgins for confirmation. At Hodgins's affirmative nod Nigel-Murray continued, "Braun is the German word for the color 'brown'. He is referring to himself as Vincent Brown."

"Mr. Nigel-Murray, that was a perfect use of the encyclopedia in your head. Keep up the good work, sir." Nigel-Murray beamed under Cam's obvious approval.

"That's the Brown, 'born in this town,'" Sweets said. "He's talking about himself, or his alter ego. If this town was where he committed his first murder he would consider himself reborn. Vincent Braun was _created_ in this town. For him, that birth is as real as biology."

"He calls himself Vincent, Hodgins?" Zack asked, returning to his computer.

"Yeah, why?"

"I…nothing. Nothing yet but Vincent is familiar. Give me a minute."

"Alright!" Everyone gaped at Jason in surprise after his enthusiastic response but he could taste the familiar tang of adrenaline. They were getting somewhere, he could _feel_ it. "While Dr. Addy is searching, let's get Phyllus on the phone." He held up a hand for silence when Angela placed the call on speakerphone.

"Hello?"

"Matt, it's Jay. I've got Agent Booth and the team at the Jeffersonian on the phone."

"Agent Booth, I…" Matt's voice faded because he knew there were no words.

"Thank you, Matt. Listen, I really appreciate you leaving your vacation to come help us out. I know you are trying to get here but I have a few questions for you now."

"Of course, Booth. I just stopped at my house to get my notes. I'm on my way to the museum now."

"Do you remember anything about the young girl from the neighborhood who babysat Needling?"

"Ah, umm, hmm…" Matt was clearly caught off guard by the line of questioning but he searched his memory of the case. "Umm, yeah, she drowned, right? Sometime while Needling was away at Choate."

"Where did she die, Matt?"

"Ah, shit, Booth I don't know. She was nothing, a dead end. Just another sad story Needling used to try and lay his poor-me bullshit."

"We don't think so, Matt," Jason spoke into the speaker. "We have reason to believe she may have been his first victim."

"You—What—No—Wait—Shit! Shit," Matt exclaimed again, banging a fist against his steering wheel. "Listen, I'm pulling into the lot now. Give me five minutes to get inside and you can tell me what the hell you are talking about."

When Matt hung up with an audible click, Jason turned back to Zack. "Dr. Addy? Anything?"

"Not yet. But it's in here somewhere. I've seen Vincent somewhere."

As Zack was muttering to himself, retired Lieutenant Matthew Phyllus stepped into the office carrying a small black briefcase. Before the others in the room could acknowledge Matt's presence, Booth stepped towards him. "Where're your books, Phyllus? I thought you were going to bring your notes?"

With a rueful grin Matt shook his briefcase slightly. "I did," he replied. "My grandson, Luke at the 305, he talked me into putting my notes on disks about a year back. Got a young admin at the precinct to transcribe them, said I'd never know when I would need these." He pulled out a series of disks, each one neatly labeled, 'G. Needling Personal Notes, Vol. 1'. "Guess I owe him a beer for being so smart, huh?"

"Lieutenant Phyllus," Angela grinned, "your grandson just saved us a lot of time. A lot."

"How's that, ma'am?"

"We should be able to run a couple of word searches on those disks, targeted towards the babysitter. If the answers we need are in there, we'll find them. Quickly. You owe your grandson a keg, sir."

"Yes, well, I doubt I'll be telling him all of that, ma'am, but thanks. Now, can someone explain why you think a teenaged Needling murdered his babysitter ten years before he killed again? The only part of this I'm clear on is that the babysitter drowned. She wasn't shot."

"Was her body found, Matt?" Booth asked.

"I…" Matt let the implication of Booth's question sink in. "Well, hell. You know, I don't think it was."

"So you have no idea how she died, do you?" Max asked as he rose to pace.

"Do you remember her name, Matt?" Jason spoke through the tension.

"I-I've been trying to think of it. I think it was a boy's name. Like Bobby or Joey or Ryan. Something like that. One of those boy names that hippies give their daughters."

"I've got it!" Angela shouted and began to quote from Matt's notes. "'Needling's childhood babysitter Roberta "Robbie" Starling was killed in a drowning accident when her kayak flipped during a camping trip in Pennsylvania. Her life jacket, kayak and cooler were found floating in various sections of the river but her body was never recovered. Date of death, September 17, 1996." Angela's gaze returned to Matt. "You go on to describe Needling's age at the time of her death and how it may have affected him but that's the gist of the details."

"All of this fits," Cam said stepping to the board. "September, the river. It fits."

"And the name, Roberta," Sweets added. "That's the _To a Mouse_ reference, the poem by Robert Burns. She's the mouse, probably to his cleverer cat."

"Ok, great, whatever. We still don't know where they are." Booth shoved a desk chair out of his path as he began to pace.

"Seeley—"

"No, Cam! Just…no. The answer is up on that board," he pointed, "and you people aren't finding it. You combine into the biggest brain on the planet and you can't find one fuck up dragging around a woman and a child! You—"

"Yes, we can," Zack interrupted softly. "Yes we can. We have." As synchronized as Olympic swimmers, everyone turned at once to stare at Zack. "They are in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania." Like a bomb on a timer, the silence was measured: One. Two. Three. Explosion!

Jason had grown accustomed to talking over this crowd. After all, now was not the first time the room had imploded into a cacophony of incoherent words and jumbled shouts. This was, however, the most boisterous blast yet and Jason's shouts for calm went unnoticed. It was Booth who, finally, stood on the chair he had just tossed, brandishing his gun threateningly, and bellowed, 'Squints!' Jason had no idea what that code word meant but to the Jeffersonian group it was apparently a magic word of silence.

"You," Booth pointed at Zack, "talk."

"We put 'S. Benet-_John Brown's Body_' on the board but it hadn't gone anywhere. I knew I remembered 'Vincent' so I re-ran my search. Benet's name is Stephen St. Vincent Benet. I thought the coinc—"

Flushed with recent success, Nigel-Murray interrupted Zack without so much as a wave of his hand. "V.C. King once said 'The probability of a certain set of circumstances coming together in a meaningful way is so low that it simply cannot be considered a mere coincidence." When he realized everyone was staring at him silently he remembered Cam's instructions and dropped his eyes from her angry glare. "Uh, sorry, Dr. Sarayon. I guess I got excited."

"Yes, well, two steps forward, three steps back, Mr. Nigel-Murray. Zack?"

"Ah, right, not a coincidence. So, I looked up where Benet was born. He was born in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. Named after the ancient city where the religious figure Jesus Christ is purported to have been born."

"He 'died for all lives to save,'" Booth murmured.

"Exactly," Zack agreed. "I checked a map and it appears the Lehigh River runs through the town. Kayaking and camping are listed as local attractions. As Dr. Sarayon said, everything fits."

"Holy shit," Jason finally spoke. "You've solved it."

Cam leaned towards him and whispered, "I told you to have a little faith. You can trust my team. We don't lose."

"I'm not staying. I am not staying here when you go. You won't keep me here." Booth's quiet words were more order than request.

"No," Jason concurred, "we won't keep you here. But," he held up a hand to halt Booth's stride towards the door, "you need to remember, we don't have them yet, Booth. Bethlehem is a pretty big town—"

"Population approximately 70, 000," Zack confirmed.

"Right. Lots of places to hide. We don't know where they are. We are going to do this right, Agent Booth. That means no rushing into town, guns blazing and barking orders. This isn't a _Die Hard_ movie. You'll come along but this is my operation. You will follow my orders." Booth's eyes narrowed threateningly but eventually blazing fury was banked when it met the cold steel in Jason's stare. He reluctantly nodded his agreement.

"Ok," Jason gave him a bolstering smack on the arm. "Here's how this is going to work. My guys have been in contact with your guys, Agent Booth, and Assistant Director Hacker has arranged for an FBI helicopter, already standing by on the museum's helipad." Booth's eyes widened in surprise and Jason could see he was buying into Jason's command. "I'm going to coordinate with the local PD on the flight to Pennsylvania. We will start with the locals, Booth, because a) we are legally obligated to and b) an operation of this nature will only run smoothly if we get their cooperation and help. It's not wasting time; it's doing what needs to be done, ok? We have more than twenty-four hours left on our deadline," Jason continued after Booth nodded his terse assent. "However, I am not willing to test this guy's patience. We do this fast and we do it right."

"Camille, I need you to stay here." Jason could tell the ex-cop in Cam wanted to protest but he also knew he could rely on that same ex-cop to follow orders. "I want you and Dr. Sweets to find Roberta Starling's parents. Do we know if they are still in DC?"

"I pulled their DMV information after we got her name," Angela responded. "They're in DC, still living in Needling's old neighborhood, about five minutes from here."

"Good. Cam, you and Dr. Sweets need to talk to the parents. Find out everything you can about their daughter's death: where she was camping, how the authorities believe she drowned, who she was with, any details they have. I'm hoping they are going to fill in some of the blanks for us."

"I want Sweets," Booth interjected suddenly.

Everyone, Sweets included, turned to look at him in surprise. "Excuse me?" Jason asked.

"I want Sweets with us. Parker…" Booth shook his head. "Sweets can help."

After a short consideration, Jason nodded. "Ok, Dr. Sweets is with us. But understand, doctor, if this moves into an official operation, you will stay back. I'm not going in with anyone who's untrained."

"Understood," Sweets responded. "Completely."

"Ok, Dr. Hodgins, you'll go with Camille. That leaves me, the pilot, Agent Booth and Dr. Sweets on the chopper. I want to take Officer Paddox as well, so we're at five," he ticked the numbers off on his fingers as he spoke. "I can take one more. I think—"

"I'm going," Max stated matter-of-factly. Clearly there were too many alpha males in this office.

"Mr. Brennan, I understand you want to be there when we find your daughter but you have no official role here. Dr. Sweets is one thing but a civilian with an emotional investment…it's messy. I'm afraid—"

"Jay," Cam interrupted, "you don't know Max very well but trust me, you want a guy with Max's…talents with you. Trust me."

"She's right, Jason," Booth agreed. "He's no one's civilian."

After a glance around the room Jason realized he was out numbered on this call and he reluctantly gave in. "Fine, but Mr. Brennan, the same rules I gave Dr. Sweets apply to you. Don't get in my way. The rest of you," Jason continued without waiting for Max's response, "I want constant contact. There is still a chance we are getting this wrong. I don't believe we are but the man we are dealing with is bat-shit crazy. He could be halfway to Canada by now if he decided running was more fun than playing a game. If you think of anything, _anything_, that you would tell me if I was here, I want a phone call. Don't worry about trivial, you call me."

"Jason," Booth implored impatiently. He was horrified to hear his voice tilt towards a whine but he wanted, needed, to _move._

"Alright, we're going, Agent Booth."

Angela stepped to Booth and wrapped her arms around him. Leaning in to kiss his cheek, she whispered, "I love her, too, Booth." She ignored the soft tremor she felt run through his body. "Bring them both home safe. Please." He nodded once and quickly stepped away, unable to speak.

As he moved towards the door Cam hugged him briefly and Zack patted his shoulder with a firm open palm. Hodgins stopped him with an extended hand and said, "We'll get you the answers you need from us, Booth. We're going to find them." Nigel-Murray merely nodded at the men as they passed and quietly offered, "God speed, Agent Booth." Booth didn't speak to any of them until he was at the office door, where he stopped but didn't turn around. "Thank you. I… Thank you," he repeated and walked away.

* * *

By the time the helicopter was in the air, Jason was already on his phone, informing the Bethlehem PD of the situation and coordinating the effort with the FBI. Max stared silently out the window, his right knee bouncing in a restless rhythm of fear and anticipation. Booth's posture remained so still that Sweets believed him to be asleep until he noticed the fist clenching and unclenching on Booth's knee.

Hoping to distract the worried father, Sweets leaned over in his seat and spoke quietly. "I want to thank you, Agent Booth, for believing I could help in some way."

Booth remained silent for so long that Sweets began to pull back before he heard Booth's quiet whisper. "Parker's going to need some help, isn't he?" Booth's eyes remained closed as he asked one of the questions running through his crowded mind. "After this, if we—when we get him, he's going to need help, right? Your kind of help."

"Ah, children are remarkably resilient. They often can compartmentalize traumatic events in a way that adults cannot. But, yes, I think it would be best if Parker received some help. It wouldn't hurt you or Dr. Brennan, either."

Booth almost laughed at the image of Bones sprawled out on Sweets's couch. "Yeah, but Parker, will you…will you?" He asked.

"Umm, it's not really my area but I can recommend—"

"My kid likes you, Sweets. It's probably because you're the same age but whatever the reason, he likes you. Your brain's big enough to hold all kinds of areas. And," Booth spoke over Sweet's objection, repeating Hodgins's earlier words, "you know what it's like to be a scared little boy." When Sweets remained silent, Booth finally opened his eyes. "I don't mean to use your history, Lance, but my son, he's going to be so scared. And I know I can trust you to know what to say to a scared little boy."

Booth so rarely used Sweet's first nameHeHe that hearing it now, in a tone of such quiet desperation, was remarkably effective. Squeezing Booth's shoulder once, he nodded. "I'll…_We'll _try. But if I'm not helping—"

"Then you can give me some names."

They both fell silent as the helicopter began its descent over the Bethlehem Police Department helipad. Jason finally hung up his phone and turned in his seat to address Booth. "I've talked to the shift commander at the local PD, as well as a couple S.T.'s. I don't think they're too accustomed to this kind of thing, but they are game. Sergeant Kaufman sounds like a stand up. I don't think we're going to have any trouble getting this job done."

When the helicopter landed, they were met by a fit man who appeared to be in his late fifties. Jason deliberately stepped up towards the man's approach, quietly signaling his authority. Holding out a hand to shake, the officer got Jason's message and nodded briefly. "Captain Little? I'm Stan Kaufman. Sergeant," he qualified, as though his rank was a bit of an afterthought.

"Sergeant Kaufman, I appreciate your help, sir. This is my team," he said, turning to introduce the group. "FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth, Dr. Lance Sweets, DCPD Officer Jack Paddox, and Max Brennan, ah, Dr. Brennan's father."

Stan nodded at the group but stuck his hand out again, this time to Booth. "Special Agent Booth, I heard about your son. We're going to do all we can to help you get him back." Booth shook Stan's hand and nodded his thanks. "We've already got a couple of your federal boys inside, Agent. If you'll follow me, my guys are ready to take second chair on this ride. Like I said, whatever we can do to help."

"I appreciate that, Sergeant," Booth replied. "I'll have a word with the agents but this is Captain Little's show." Jason's eyes widened briefly but he quickly banked his surprise and gestured for everyone to start towards the station.

They had just entered the station's only conference room when Jason's phone began to ring. Glancing at the display, he stepped aside saying, "If you'll excuse me, I need to take this call."

As Booth was introduced to the agents and officers assigned to the case he kept his attention tuned to Jason's conversation, hoping to hear something new. What he heard was: "Uh-huh. Ok. Ok. Yeah? Ok. Wait, where? GPS—uh-huh. Son of a bitch."

Oblivious to the officer who was explaining the topography of the area around the Lehigh River, Booth walked to stand in front of Jason. "What?" He asked and had to physically restrain his fist when Jason held up a single finger, silently telling Booth to 'wait one minute.' "What?" He said again when Jason hung up.

"We've got him." Jason grabbed Booth's shoulder. "We've fucking got him."

"What?" God, did he know any other word?

Addressing the room, Jason raised his voice slightly. "Most of you don't know me but I'm going to ask you to listen up." Both Booth and Stan gestured for him to continue. "We have discovered that Gregory Needling's babysitter Roberta Starling was killed here in September of 1996 while on a camping trip. According to my guys in Washington, Roberta's parents used to own a cabin in your woods. I've got GPS coordinates on their way," he said, even as his phone signaled a message received. "Evidently Roberta loved to take a young Needling to the cabin during the summers. She also," he glanced at Booth, who sat on the conference table when he felt his knees going weak, "was known to reward the child with special privileges if he could solve her riddles."

For the first time in twenty-two hours, Booth's smile spread. "We've got him."

"We've got him," Jason repeated and moved towards Stan's map to study the GPS location. One of Stan's officers standing nearby saw the location and said, "I know this place. My hunting lease runs along here," he gestured to the northern border of the property. "Over the years I've maybe crossed outside my lease from time-to-time to chase a buck. This place, it's well-kept but always empty. Always. I've been hunting there six years now and I don't know as I've ever seen a soul on that property. There's a clearing here, Sarge," he pointed to the map again, indicating a space about half a mile from the cabin. "If we enter here," he ran his hand along a road, "we can stop at the clearing and hoof it the rest of the way, go in quick and quiet."

Booth and Jason both listened carefully, surveying the map. At Booth's small nod, Jason spoke, "Good, that's what we do. We go in silent. Not quiet; silent. I don't want this guy spooked. We surround the house completely before we enter." Determined to ensure he was understood, Jason straightened in his seat and surveyed the whole room. "No one enters before my signal." If Jason's command rankled any of the locals, they didn't let it show. "I want fifteen guys, plus my five. Full vests, people."

"Jay?" Booth stopped his speech with an expressive glance at the room.

"Go ahead, Agent Booth."

"I…That's my son there," he pointed to a picture of Parker someone had already hung on a corkboard. "That's my son but I'm still a cop. You need to be careful. This guy's armed, he's a good shot, and he likes to cause pain. He doesn't plan to go to jail so he's willing to do whatever it takes. He's got a woman and a small boy inside with him and he won't hesitate to use them as a shield. He…" Booth almost lost control before he cleared his throat. "Like I said, he likes pain so we should assume the…hostages have been hurt. We do this carefully. Please."

When Jason heard murmurs of ascent circle the room, he rose. "Let's roll."

It took less than twenty minutes to surround the cabin. Booth saw the silver BMW parked in the driveway but didn't allow himself to feel any relief. So far, the operation had gone perfectly. Too perfectly. Too smooth. Irrational or not, easy meant wrong to a cop. He could tell by his body language that Jason felt the same nervous dread. Shaking off the feeling, Booth matched his stride to Jason's as they approached the house. On a silent count to three they slipped through the front door, coordinated officers doing the same through windows and the kitchen door. Their entrance was practiced, controlled, and efficient. Decades of training melded into movements of such harmony they resembled a dance shared by life-long partners.

All of it drained instantly out of Booth when he saw his son perched on a chair in the middle of the room, his head buried in his hands. Booth dropped his gun and, ignoring the shouts of the police surrounding him, rushed to Parker and lifted the boy into a spinning embrace.

"Daddy?" Parker sniffled. When Booth couldn't respond, Parker began to wail, screaming as he had wanted to scream since Nathan had first touched his shoulder. "Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy." Over and over again he cried.

Falling to the ground with Parker in his lap, Booth buried his face in Parker's hair and rocked. "It's me Parks. It's Daddy. I've got you. I've got you."

"Agent Booth." An unknown officer tapped Booth's shoulder lightly but Booth knocked his arm away. Crouching next to the father and son, the officer kept his tone official. "Agent Booth. We need to check your son for injuries. We need to be sure—"

Booth pulled back with a jerk, his hands wandering Parker's body frantically, as though he had only just remembered the possibility that Parker had been injured.

"Are you hurt, Parker? Did he hurt you? Shh, Parks, I need you to talk to me. Did he hurt you?"

When Parker shook his head and Booth couldn't find any obvious injuries, he pulled his son back against his chest and asked the officer, "Bones?"

But it was Parker who answered, his face buried against Booth's protective vest. "He took her. He took Bones. He hurt her and he took her. He took Bones. He took Bones away."


	8. Au Note and Given a Name to My Pain

Author's Note:

Hey guys! Generally speaking I think it is an unfair tease to submit an author's note as a new chapter. For those of you who are on this story's alert, you get all excited (hopefully!) thinking there's a new chapter, only to get a paragraph of excuses. When this happens to me in stories I follow I am always disappointed. However, since I have abandoned this story in the past, I thought you deserved a quick explanation of my recent delays, as well as another promise that this story HAS NOT BEEN ABANDONED! So, I have settled on a compromise: in addition to my aforementioned explanation, I am also offering a _very _short update (one quick Brennan scene). I hope this is a little fairer than only submitting an A/N.

Now the explanation: I was recently laid off and while it seems like my non-working schedule should allow _more_ time for writing, the opposite is actually true. My looking-for-another-job schedule is much more hectic and it's taking me a little while to settle in to a routine and get over the immense stress that comes with losing a job. Right now I am on a cross-country roadtrip/job search, in an attempt to look at this new development as a chance to explore opportunities that may not exist in my own backyard. Therefore, updating my stories is a little difficult from the road. But, I promise, this story is completely written (just not typed or edited) so I will be returning to it as soon as possible. I'm still going to try to update on my trip but I'm guessing a new, full chapter won't be added until at least next week. I'm really sorry!

Now, I know most of you probably don't care and it is likely the height of arrogance to assume you are all annoyed with my lack of updates but for the few of you who are dying to find out what happened to Bones, here's a quick teaser!

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Chapter 8: Given a Name to My Pain

_Bump, bump, shimmy, shimmy. Bump, bump, shimmy, shimmy. Bump, bump, shimmy, shimmy. _

When Brennan awoke, the consistent rhythm of _bump, bump, shimmy, shimmy _was the only sensation she could process. Somewhere in her brain she acknowledged that this was not her first drift back into consciousness because the rhythm seemed oddly familiar but thoughts were racing in and out of her mind so rapidly that even that recognition was fleeting. Focused on the arduous task of merely holding her eyelids open, she couldn't remember who she was, much less where she was or how she got there.

When the weights that were surely attached to her eyelids began to pull her back into oblivion, she tried desperately to avoid the blackness. She began to blink rapidly, forcing herself to push through the appealing numbness. Concentrating on the rhythm of _bump, bump, shimmy, shimmy_, she tried to count the number of bumps while her brain adjusted into awareness. After an indeterminable amount of time she reached 27 bumps and suddenly thought, with great clarity, _'there are 27 bones in the human hand.'_

_Huh. No idea where that came from._ But Brennan was positive her thought was correct; there are 27 bones in the human hand. Without intentional direction, her mind lingered on the word 'bones.' She _knew _that word, just 'bones', meant something. Something important to her personally. Latching on to this conviction, she realized she not only knew how many bones made up the human hand; she knew their names as well. Though she had no comprehension of why she knew this information, she nonetheless ran through the list in her mind. _Scaphoid, lunate, triquetral, pisiform, trapezium, trapezoid, capitate._ Now she was chanting the list silently, willing her lips to move. _Hamate, carpals, metacarpals, distal phalanges, proximal phalanges, phalanges, phalanges, dancing phalanges._

_Dancing phalanges?_ That phrase, so utterly bizarre and yet completely familiar, brought everything back in a rush of sudden clarity. _Bones_, she remembered, only this time the word in her head resounded in Booth's voice, calling to her. Her thoughts began to race again but this time they tore through a litany of lucidity. _Bones…Temperance Brennan…Booth…Parker… Parker! _Frantically she whispered, "Parker?" But there was no response. Licking her lips, she tried to raise her voice. "Parker?" No response; only more flashes of uncertainties. _Where is Parker? Needling…the cabin…beeping noise…yelling…gun…Ouch!_ Her mind finally caught up with her body and she was swamped by a firestorm of agony. Pain so deep that it was no wonder her mind had shut off—it was defending itself against something her body was powerless to fight. _Ok,_ she thought, _clarity is obviously overrated. _But there was no sliding back into the numbness now; pain was her new reality.

Searching for the source of the burning, Brennan tried to extend her right arm towards her stomach but before she could reach her torso, her arm was stopped by cold steel scraping against her wrist. _Handcuffs_, she realized and turned her head to inspect the restraints. She could just make out the outline of their shine and saw that the opposite end was attached to sturdy metal rung. Her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, she guessed that she was inside the trunk of a car as she finally recognized the familiar _bump, bump, shimmy, shimmy _rhythm of the road. She had no memory of being forced into a trunk but her now fully operational brain acknowledged that she was probably unconscious during that particular event.

Still desperate to stem the pain coursing through her body, Brennan lifted her left arm and was relieved to find it unconfined. This blessed relief was short lived, however. At the same time she bent her arm in an attempt to stretch it towards the right side of her body, the car hit a large bump and her arm bounced against the roof of the trunk. _Add throbbing to the burning, _Brennan thought, painfully reminded that her left arm was broken. She could feel that her makeshift cast was still in place, if a little crumpled and torn, and began to again move gingerly across her body.

The source of her suffering was difficult to identify because it seemed to encompass her entire body but she thought it might be located somewhere along her right side. Trailing her fingertips down her neck, across her collarbone and shoulder and around the furthest curve of her breast, she paused at the top of her ribs where her fingers slid into the first pool of wet. Lifting her fingers to hover above her face, her nose recognized what her eyes couldn't see. There was no escaping the faintly metallic smell of fresh blood that engulfed her senses.

Tugging up her ruined sweater, Brennan resumed her inspection, now skimming fingers that trembled over skin sticky with her own blood. Slipping down and across her torso, she applied a tiny amount of pressure against the soft curve of her belly and felt the resulting sting arrow into her leg, just below her hip. She carefully unbuttoned her pants and followed the path of pain, unable to stop her whimper when her fingers reached the jagged edge of torn flesh and lightly pumping blood. She felt her racing pulse beating against fingertips that moved to the center of her wound. Panic threatened to overwhelm her but she fell back on the calming effects of pure science, forcing herself to remain clinical by blending the roles of doctor and victim. In a detattached, if silent voice, she observed: _GSW, entry at victim's right upper thigh, apparent damage to the anterior surface of the femur, possible involvement of the deep femoral artery, no obvious exit wound._


End file.
